The (un)Real World

I never understand people who claim they have never cried while reading a book. I mean, I believe that they're telling me the truth, I just don't relate to that idea. I'm a notorious crier at movies (I started crying in the opening credits of The Notebook just because I knew what was coming) but when I read books, I get completely lost in them, so absorbed that I laugh and cry right along with the characters, going right into what is commonly known among family as "The Kate Zone," emerging days later a little confused at what year it is and where I am.

Last night Casey decided to watch a man movie so I crawled into bed with my latest book about the French court at Versailles under one of the King Louis (side note: France, there are male names other than Louis. Try a 1,001 Baby Names. Honestly.) It was starting out fantastically, my little peasant heroine fell in love with a courtier who in turn fell in love with her and built her this beautiful chateau and was going to marry her and it was going oh so well. Until Augustine the courtier decided to not only cheat on her but leave my lovely heroine destitute and heartbroken. The fact that I was sobbing during the heart-wrenching scene is a given but I was truly mad at him as well. I crawled out of the bed to grab more tissues, muttering to Augustine about what a genuine d-bag he was, how could you do that Marguerite, was it because she was a peasant? DON'T YOU KNOW THAT TRUE LOVE ONLY COMES AROUND ONCE IN A WHILE YOU IDIOT ? Casey, momentarily distracted from Max Payne, called out to me as I went back to bed, "Did you just mutter something about someone being a bastard???"

I woke up this morning genuinely mad at the entire male race (probably a good thing that my husband was still asleep or my wrath might have landed on an unsuspecting victim) and only after about 12 hours away from the book have I been able to calm down enough to not send death glares at every man that crosses my path.