Bite Me, Edward

Ugh, this is how class makes me feel. (That is my boyfriend's leg, not mine!! I am not that hairy. Also, his heel could use some moisturizer.)

But this is how I look.

Outfit: Dress and shirt: from Dillards, a brand called Dex; tights: Target; Boots: Rocket Dog via DSW.

And, to briefly use my blog as soapbox, I'm not understanding the Twilight craze. I read the first three books and freely admit that they were entertaining. However, I didn't find them romantic, and the general message makes the tiny feminist inside me hurt.

This has been said by much more eloquent writers than me, but Bella is kind of a passive disgrace to strong, motivated women. She falls in love, and, when her boyfriend leaves her, spends a year alienating everyone around her, tries to kill herself several times, and only starts to perk up when she discovers a new love interest. That's not romantic. If you saw one of your friends acting like that, (hopefully) you would tell them how pathetic they were and buy them a subscription to Match.com and some self-help books. That it's okay to be completely defined by a man--whose primary interest in you is physical--is not an okay message to be sending out to the next generation. It's not romantic to distance your friends and family, or to spend months in a depressed haze because you're suddenly single at sixteen. And it's definitely not romantic to try to kill yourself by jumping off cliffs or running your motorcycle into a tree.

The fantasy of a man who passionately lusts for only you, who can make your toes curl with his glittery skin and smouldering eyes, who can discern and provide your every want--that's great for a little while.

But what's better is someone who dries the dishes after you wash them, who walks the dog in the rain, who brings you Coke in a glass bottle--not Coke in a can--because that's the way you think it's best.

It's realizing that Mr. Bingley would be a much better partner than Mr. Darcy, that Edgar would love you like Heathcliff never could, that Duckie would remain hopelessly devoted for far longer than the blond rich kid with the nice hair.

Think about that, Bella, 100 years from now, when you're barefoot in the kitchen being tugged at by a couple of pasty little vampirettes, and Edward's out having a mid-century crisis in his Ferrari with some hot-blooded little thing from Spokane.