On True Love

I think every little girl thinks she knows a lot about romance. . . and then every teenage girl knows she knows a lot about romance. . . and then those in their twenties realize how much they don't know about romance. . . and the vicious cycle continues on from there.

Then there are girls like me and my roommates, who choose to take what we call a "refreshing" look on dating and men.

Cats:

The thing to do if you are a relatively young single with no prospects is to become a cat lady. It is an age-old and well-respected tradition. Many have chosen and followed down this glorious path!

 . . . Yah.



Instead of being boy crazed, we find other things to do with our lives.

One major interest is cats—although I feel that this is a little cliche. Still a thing.

Beyond Cats:

Ashley has a different passion, cats are not really her thing. Ashley has found her true love—the only problem is that he died 29 years before she was born, and if he had lived he would be over a century old. (not Twilight, no vampires. Don't go there). —It is probably good he is already dead because Ashely is sooo entirely enamored she might be willing to make drastic exceptions for the man of her dreams.

Ashley's true love is named Clive, Clive Staples Lewis to be thorough. Some people (most of the world) refer to him as C. S. Lewis. —Now you understand.

For some girls love is that lop-sided grin that makes your heart melt in your chest like butter, or that crazy good athletic pose after a game that makes you crazy if you look too long, or maybe the way a guy pushes his glasses up on his nose when he gets excited about double helix bonds and its the stupidest thing you've Ever Seen, but still darling. For Ashely it is words on a page.

I make fun of her for it, but I'm the one who is in love with Legolas—which I feel is slightly more pathetic. Legolas never existed. At least J. R. R. Tolkien lived and breathed, but an elf? He will never be more than a two dimensional character made up of words on a page. And also exceedingly attractive. Lameness.

Anyway. . . back to Ashely.

Ashley has given up her interest in real, breathing men. Her policy: Books are better.

What does this mean for the world?  Nothing. The world will go on happily, paying more attention to to the happy couples who do normal things like hold hands, and get in fights, and cuddle on couches while they spill pizza down their shirts.

What does all of this mean for me and my roomies?  Probably bad things.

On the bright side, when you are trying to impress cats instead of guys you don't have to dress up in the mornings. Cats don't care if you're lazy, or about your academics, or about your job—just so long as it pays you well enough to buy them their food. (I would assume the same is true of lizards, although I have spent less time pondering this avenue.)

How do you impress C. S. Lewis? You can't, you can only be in love with him in your head. This means you don't even have to brush your teeth, or do your make-up, and you can eat all the garlic bread you want—you could even eat whole garlic cloves and he wouldn't pay you any less attention. In fact, the closest you'll ever feel to him may be when you're lying in bed at two in the afternoon in your pajamas, reading a book. This relationship is judgement free.

Beyond Beyond Cats:

I do have a confession to make. I too have fallen in love. No, not with a person (dead or alive). I have fallen in love with a book. It is a new experience for me as I have never been entirely enamored of the written word before. . . probably shouldn't be. As great as books are, there is definatley a too far. I'm probably going off the deep end.

All I will say is that Patrick Rothfuss is a brilliant man and that if you haven't read Name of the Wind you will be infinitely below my notice and beneath my care, and may never know joy in your life.