Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Congrats to JMC for correctly guessing today’s Guess that Lonely Heart. The answer was the purplest book I’ve ever read, Blaze Wyndham by Beatrice Small. This book was such a trip I can still remember the names of Blaze and her sisters (Mary Blaze, Mary Blythe, Mary Bliss, Mary Delight, etc.) and I wish I could replace that knowledge with where I left my car keys.

But I digress! Kneel and receive thy Smart Bitche Title™

You know the drill - first one to give us author, title, heroine’s name gets le Smart Bitche Title!

All my dresses might as well be purple, too

Impetuous and sophisticated-beyond-my-years gentry daughter with no dowry to speak of seeks a series of men to guide me from virginity to a great deal of experience. First, a benevolent, almost fatherly-aged gentleman to rescue my family from ruin, teach me the ins and outs of coitus in as many locations as possible, and introduce me to luuuuurve, baby, yeah. Then, a royal pain with a ginormous ass to bend me unwillingly into sexual servitude and political intrigue. Finally, a younger, more passionate, and ultimately appropriate man who allows me to keep my original title, my pride, and my happily ever after. 

I love stories of true romance as much as I love the fictional ones. Enjoy and try not to picture the movie version, because over-production would suck all the joy and beauty out of the simplicity of this story. 

Go forth and find out what your name REALLY means in the Sexy Name Decoder!

Here’s mine:

Ha. Ain’t that the troof. Though how does one adeptly need anything? Can I want something inadeptly?

Courtesy of Lore Sjoberg, the guy behind The Brunching Shuttlecocks, The Book of Ratings, the Cyborg Name Decoder and the Monster Name Decoder--in short, one sexy fucking geek.

p.s. Feel free to copy and paste the code into the comments so we can all see what you got. 

I’m the middle of reading Hot Spell, and a couple of nights ago, while reading Lora Leigh’s contribution ("The Breed Next Door"), I had to put the book down and sigh, just a little. See, I’d gotten to the part wherein the heroine laments that she attracts only computer nerds (she calls ‘em techies), and not real men.

Whoa. Ouch.

Also: does this mean I’m a lesbian? Or, at the very least, bisexual? My family already has a gay son, a daughter who had a kid out of wedlock with a married man and a son who ran off on his wife and two kids to be with a Philippino hairdresser. Maybe this is the niche I can fill in the family: I’ll be the daughter who really, really likes clam dip, if you know what I mean.

I know, I know: STOP THE PRESSES, a romance author has just used a lazy, inaccurate stereotype. Oh, the horror. What’s next? Virgin widows? Secret babies? Millionaire playboys who are mysteriously herpes-free?