Sigh. Romantic heroes. They’re so bad, they’re good. They’re angry, but nobody else will ever love you the way they do. They’re filthy rich, tragically broken, and only YOU can fix them. What it would be, to live with a romantic hero! Sheer heaven. Sigh.
But what really happens after ‘The End’? When dietary fibre and la vie quotidienne get in the way? What would it really be like to live with a tortured romantic hero? Especially if you’re – well, kind of an ordinary person?
(This is another in the Why You Should Never Live With… series. Unreliable Narrator here. Chick-Lit Heroine here. Cop From A Crime Novel here. Young Adult Protagonist here. Literary Fiction Hero here. But now it’s time to get smoochy, folks.)
*********************************
It’s late. You’re in your pyjamas, watching an underwritten TV show about a helpless yet defiant 22-year-old woman who’s been hurt before. It’s been a long day at work, where you do something vague in administration or marketing, and you’re looking forward to a good night’s sleep.
The front door opens. There is a deep sigh from the hallway, and the unmistakeable yet improbable sound of someone raking their hands through their hair in mental anguish.
You wait for a moment, and tortured steps make their way through the hall and into the living room.
Romantic Hero is home.
He casts his eyes about the living room wildly until they settle on you, which is frankly a bit odd because it’s not really a very big living room and you’re pretty much the only noticeable thing in it due to the fact that you’re wearing your neon yellow silk moose pyjamas, but still, he spots you eventually, pinning you with his steely gaze.
Romantic Hero: You’re here. I didn’t know if you would be here.
You: Hi, babe. Course I’m here. Why wouldn’t I be?
Romantic Hero: When I came in the door I— I—I didn’t dare hope.
You: Hope what? Hey, are you hungry? I was going to make a grilled cheese sandwich. I probably shouldn’t be eating cheese at this hour, but I’m feeling naughty.
[Romantic Hero comes to the sofa and kneels down in front of you, clasping your hands, which is a bit awkward because you’re holding the TV remote, but hey]
Romantic Hero: I couldn’t concentrate at work today. My similarly rich and good-looking lawyer friend is beginning to suspect something’s wrong.
You: [smiling indulgently] Well, you are impossibly handsome, with your chiselled jaw and freakishly full lower lip and thick dark eyelashes and quick-growing stubble and short hair that is still somehow always described in terms that would suit a longer style. I’m sure he’ll forget about it and everything will be fine tomorrow. Now, about that cheese…
Romantic Hero: [stroking one hand down your cheek and cupping your chin, which, if you’re honest about it, doesn’t feel comfortable, being that close to your windpipe] In my mind’s eye all I could see was the image of you, yesterday, in front of that car – your fragile beauty almost taken from me –
You: Ah, babe, hold on now a second. It was a pedestrian crossing, and the car had already stopped at a red light. You’re going to have to let that go.
Romantic Hero: And I couldn’t breathe. When I think of losing you—I can’t breathe.
You: I don’t know why I bother picking up your inhaler prescriptions for you when you refuse to carry one. You know you have asthma, right?
Romantic Hero: [Standing up abruptly, his hands in the pockets of his expensive well-cut suit, which is unfortunately shiny on the knees from all the kneeling down he does] I can’t do this.
You: Do what? Eat?
Romantic Hero: [pacing the room and throwing his jacket off, unaware that his powerful shoulders have ripped right through the seams of his designer shirt] This. Us. I can’t function when I feel this exposed.
You: You do seem to have a problem with keeping your shirt on, to be fair.
Romantic Hero: I lost a big business deal today.
You: But didn’t you make six hundred million euros last week?
Romantic Hero: [his glittering black eyes boring bleakly into your soul] Yes, but—
You: And you said you closed seven big business deals just this week, each of them incredibly successful albeit vague except for the fact that they seem to have something to do with property in Italy, Greece, and some made-up place in the Middle East.
Romantic Hero: Money doesn’t matter to me. Nothing means anything to me anymore. I’m a broken man, because of you.
You: [frowning] What the hell? Why are you blaming me?
Romantic Hero: You’ve turned my life upside down.
You: I beg your pardon. Who was the person who finally got you sleeping after fourteen years of agonising insomnia? Me! Who did you say was the first person to ever make you feel like you had a stable, happy home? Me! Who murdered the evil father who made you believe you were incapable of love? Me, that’s who!
Romantic Hero: It’s not enough. It doesn’t help me with my hunger.
You: I don’t know how many different ways I can offer you a cheese sandwich, I really don’t. But that’s literally all we have in the kitchen.
Romantic Hero: [stepping closer—growling gutturally] You’re driving me crazy. My hunger is for YOU. Don’t you understand?
You: Look, if you want a frenzied tumble on the rug, you’re kind of going about it the wrong way, given that you sounded like you were breaking up with me a minute ago.
Romantic Hero: [pulling you up from the couch into his arms] I need you. I’ve never needed anything more in my life.
You: That’s nice.
Romantic Hero: [kissing and licking you in mad places all over your face] Say you’ll stay with me forever.
You: Okay, okay! Anything to stop the drama.
Romantic Hero: Will you come to bed with me, my love? Exorcise my demons with your body?
You: Fine. But THEN can I make my sandwich?
THE END
*****************************
Well, that’s it. Camembert calls.
Haha! Love!
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And it hurts, doesn’t it, Mel?
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So funny. Love it!
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Feel like I’m mainlining love here, Niki…
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Ugh, the rash on my face from his stubble!
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…and the queasiness in my stomach from all that cheese…
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And they say a lively imagination never hurt anyone.
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Lol give me camembert anyday…
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I know I wrote that, but I’m afraid wasn’t entirely honest with you. I was more attracted to cheddar at the time.
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Lol. I prefer Brie 😛
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A post that made me laugh and hungry – it’s all there. Bravo.
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Now, if only I could get people’s bowels moving too, I could take over the world, Depterness.
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Grinding them to a halt might be more effective, Tara.
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What I would give to rip a seam. At the shoulder, at the pelvis, the ankle, anywhere. But no- Exoskeleton Man can only wear holes at the elbows and heels, and you can just guess how many women that’s charmed into my embrace.
I will never understand a woman who needs short hair on her man- can I just admit that? I’m styling the aging-Fabio look myself (shoulder length and grey. And beneath it, the physique of a number 2 pencil). So I can quip “I’m a man of the nineties. Of course, I mean the twelve-nineties…” yeah, not even funny when I type it out.
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I’m not sure whether it’s a matter of what people actually like, Will. There are very strict rules for romance writers from what I can see and somebody somewhere decrees that men’s hair must be short, women’s long. But that’s got about as much relevance to real life as neon yellow moose pyjamas, if you ask me. Ripped or not 😉
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Oh Tara. Oh, darlin. It’s just so…wait for it…cheesy.
One of the best!
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He’s exhausted me already, Melodie, and I made him up.
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Ha ha – each of these is better than the previous ones! I think this is my favorite so far 😀
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Thanks Nick. Of course, all resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental, etc
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Oh! And I thought you based her on me, given my love of grilled cheese toasties. Mmm, toasties…
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I think publishers are missing a trick, I really do. I gave people a choice between a gorgeous specimen of tortured manhood and a cheese sandwich, and the toastie has swept the boards. Do you think I should tell them?
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Don’t be silly. They’ll find out when you publish your memoir, “Life with Cheese” and break the charts. Sadly, you’re bound to lose all of your fortune in an unfortunate Camembert orchard investment, after someone convinces you that the best cheese does, indeed, grow on trees.
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As predictions go, it’s not the worst. I’ll take it.
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That’s great. When would you like to visit my Cheddar orchard? Sadly, I’m planning on selling it for personal reasons (my cat is lactose intolerant). I hear it makes for a lovely investment, though. Perhaps you or a certain fabulous couple might be interested?
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I think I’ll send the fearsome twosome in to negotiate on my behalf. I doubt there’s any holes in your offer, but apparently they’re quite good in these matters.
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While they’re here, I may introduce them to a Nigerian friend of mine – a prince, no less. Apparently, he’s got quite the opportunity lined up.
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Excellent. I’ll sell tickets. I’ve seen how they handle royalty.
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Publishers would take a cheese toastie – but only in the kind of scenario where the hero takes the impossibly aristocratic heroine to a burger van for dinner – you know, like Warren Beatty in Heaven Can Wait. It’s always got to be the hero laying down the law on dinner, which is another reason not to live with one. Heroines should just go for the two pages of great sex in chapter six and then tiptoe off. I wonder what would happen if she was in her jammies with her new tortured lover, when the old one came home?
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Presumably if her new tortured lover was worth his or her salt, she wouldn’t still be in her jammies at all, no?
And ooh! So it’s always chapter six? I did not know that. Every book should have a romantic or erotic easter egg in chapter six from now on. It’ll be a hoot in the conservative manifestos.
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When I say Jammies, of course they will be delicate lace trimmed silk affairs which she is wearing under a poorly tied peignoir.
It’s not always chapter six. it can be earlier if they’re then going to have a serious misunderstanding which takes nearly all of the book to clear up. It can be later if she suddenly takes it into her head that the pregnant housekeeper is really his mistress (and not of course his dead brother’s fiancee) and holds him off, without telling him why, of course, until the end of chapter eight.
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You couldn’t possibly be suggesting that these are written to a formula, Elaine. Could you?
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And I thought Heathcliff was high maintenance… 😛 LOL!!! 😀
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Well, exactly. Now you really should let him out of your basement.
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But…. Oh, go on then! 😦
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Ha ha ha. Oh the drama. Nice one, Tara. 50 Shades of Annoying when you just want a grilled cheese sandwich and a mindless episode of The Walking Dead. 🙂
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I beg your pardon. The Walking Dead is the closest thing we have to social psychology at the moment, Diana. You take that back!
Oh, dear. Now I’m hungry again.
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Excellent – it’s the way you tell ’em.
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But I only transcribe, Colin. My house is very dramatic.
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This cracked me up so much! Especially: “unaware that his powerful shoulders have ripped right through the seams of his designer shirt.” 😆 😆 😆
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Thanks! Romantic Hero would thank you too, but he’s muttering darkly and looking for his robe.
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Hahaha! 😀
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You have so much more class than me Sparling. I had a picture of a cheddar sandwich in my mind’s eye, all the way to the last line. I suspect I couldn’t live with this guy either. The mere mention of a toastie would put all else out of my mind.
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Excellent! Can I call myself a food blogger now? Pleeeeeease?
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You are at least a honorary food blogger by this stage. Post the sandwich. That will copper fasten it.
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Hilarious :0)
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Goodness me – I was exhausted just reading this! Haha. Spot on as usual 😆
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Romantic Hero is desolate to have exhausted you, Helen. He’s wearing a haunted look, but not much else.
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Dammit! Why am I so drawn to these desolate brooding types…
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It’s their silent pain. It masquerades as free drink. I swear.
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That must be it. That and their devastating good looks, of course.
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Of course.
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Oh God that’s brilliant! The drama, I just couldn’t cope. And all I can think about is a cheese sandwich. Give me a cheese sandwich anyday.
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Agreed. A cheese sandwich will never walk out on you or attempt to systematically dismantle you because of a stupid misunderstanding, Donna. I can testify to that.
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You clearly need to send him here.. https://youtu.be/uT3OQECSDoQ
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I’d never seen that! Brilliant. No cheese sounds just perfect for our hero.
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I agree. It’s just what should happen to him.
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I’m now actually craving cheese… you can keep the hero.
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This is turning into a pattern. I think I’ve invented bestseller cheese. I’m going to be rich.
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I think this is your best yet, Tara – though that may be because it seems so eerily realistic to me. Have you got cameras set up at my house again?
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Of course not, Graeme. Why would I need cameras when I’m there myself?
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I wondered what that creaking noise between the walls was… So it’s true – you do know that I hate cheese sandwiches
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Everyone knows that. If I were you I’d be more worried about me posting something about the garlic butter.
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I thought we’d agreed to never mention that incident again
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It’s not like I signed anything.
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On 25th January we commemorated Rabbie Burns. Great lover, but hardly a great hero, though if you count his poetry and his recording of old songs in danger of being lost, then maybe he is. But living with him must have been a nightmare. Living with any ‘hero’ must become tiresome, whether trying to dismiss their growing ego, or dealing with your own diminishing feeling of self worth when comparing yourself to them. So I’ll settle for the more mundane guy who treats me as part of a team – him and me and our family. That’ll do fine.
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Well, Dorothy, it’s not like I’m exactly being given a choice or anything – there aren’t any romantic heroes sobbing outside my door right now, quoting Burns or anyone else. All the same I’m inclined to agree with you.
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I recognised similar traits in the way dogs behave with their owners and whent the face licking started I knew I was right. It’s horrible. The best argument yet for keeping turtles as pets.
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You turtle lovers are all the same, Chris. Explains why there aren’t so many movies about you.
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How lucky was she?
Reminds me of some of the girls I worked with who went out with some of the most obnoxious doctors just because they were doctors. Be careful what you wish for. (Disclaimer…not all the doctors were romantic heroes)
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No way Tric! You mean not all doctors are burdened by the weight of saving the world whilst simultaneously groaning with love for you? I want a refund on my health insurance immediately. I’m gutted and no surgeon can help me.
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Reblogged this on Nicholas C. Rossis and commented:
This is so funny I just had to share!
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Thanks Nick 😆
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Oh, it ‘s hilarious. Thanks for writing such a fun post 🙂
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Great writing…and so hilarious! Loved it…
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Thanks, Gwen. Much appreciated. Romantic hero appreciates it too. So much so in fact, it hurts. 😉
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Reblogged this on The Write Stuff and commented:
I’ve always said I love an angst-ridden tortured man–in BOOKS–believing that those I’ve met in real life would be far more trouble than they’re worth. This hilarious post just proves how right I am! Check it out. I promise you’ll LOL all over the place. 🙂
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Thanks for the re-blog, Marcia. I’d love to LOL myself, alas, I’m feeling a tad suffocated by wrenching love right now.
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Those dang angsty men with their perpetual wrenching! (Not to be confused with wenching, though there is no doubt some overlap.) Stay strong, and try an oxygen mask to tide you through those suffocating moments. My thoughts are with you, even though I’m sniggering behind my hand, because I am definitely not living with this problem. At my house, it’s “Damn the romance heroes, full cheese sandwich ahead!”
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😀 😛 I enjoy bibliotherapy once in a while. In real life, this type of romance would be sooo inconvenient and boring. Ha ha ha. Love this. Entertaining and worth a couple giggles.
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‘Inconvenient’ is a brilliant way to describe it. Along with ‘bonkers’, ‘worrying’, and ‘help!!’, obviously.
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Reblogged this on Author_Iris_Chacon and commented:
Anyone who has ever read a novel with this kind of hero will laugh at this scene. Love it.👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼
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So much love, Iris. And here was me thinking love could only ruin, hurt and maim 😉 Thanks for reblogging!
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Brilliantly funny! That sort of romantic hero has never appealed to me – spare me the jet-black hair, intense blue eyes, chiselled jaw, and most of all the rude, arrogant behaviour. Living with a man like that would be deeply tedious!
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Thanks, Annabelle. I’m toying with the idea of saying I actually DO live with aforementioned Romantic Hero, just to see if I get any jealous comments…
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Thank you for the laughter!
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And the torture. Don’t forget the torture, Julia. 😉
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Bahahaha! This is the best!! 🤗🤣
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Thanks, Jessica 😉
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Reblogged this on Jessica Bakkers and commented:
Ok this is totally hilarious! Tara’s take on what it would be like living with a dark brooding romantic hero, irl.
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Thanks for the re-blog too!
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Too funny not to pass on!
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