Romance

I am skimming the book 1001 Ways to be Romantic, for my Women’s Lit class. Yes, Women’s Lit-ers are romantic and no, we are not male bashers. Also no, we do not burn our bras, though in the early years of “the movement” women did discard their aprons, a much more appropriate emblem of what they were rebelling against. [That bra burning was a plant of deliberately erroneous information. One of the protestors said it would be unsafe to burn the items women had thrown into the trash can at that Atlantic City protest; moms are concerned about safety.] Why do I plan to bring this particular book to class for enrichment? It’s another in the collection of pictures, opinions, histories, and essays that enrich our discussions. Some of us will agree with the advice, and some of us will point out parallels in our required textbook readings. Some of us will disagree with the advice, which is great because in WoLit we listen to everyone's opinion.

Inside or outside the class, Romance is what many of us want more of, apparently, especially if it’s tied to understanding. One of 1001’s suggestions is to sit “your” wife in front of the refrigerator, blindfold her, and use your fingers to feed her small and luscious bits of food: a piece of chocolate, a fresh raspberry, and so forth. Two people, one refrigerator of food, one blindfold, and sensuality: romance. [Does the tub of 50 mini éclairs count?]

What we practice in Women’s Lit, is that no matter what the topic (or question) there are many ways we can consider it. There’s the immediate reaction: Oh good, food! There’s the consequences: do I look like one of Reubens’ women, much as they are adored? Are the raspberries that you’re feeding me fresh, or are they the ones with the grey mold on the bottom? What do I need to see, in order to remain safe? In our house, there’s the safety issue: no one approaches the refrigerator unattended. The dogs are there first, waiting for the magic door to open, jostling for position, and ready to walk or crawl over anyone who is blindfolded (and therefore incapable of defending the food that’s being handed out). They are not un-romantic; they simply believe that in situations involving food there’s one adjective: mine.

So how do we keep romance in the house, and fur out of the food? Eat from the countertops; find a cheap restaurant where we can gaze into each other’s eyes, take a sip of coffee without ingesting hair, and be as romantic as it’s possible to be amid crackling burger paper and Formica countertops. Go back to Women’s Lit, where “mine” becomes “ours”: our ongoing discussion about romance, life, and how we relate the genders in our lives (without physical blindfolds, realizing we often wear emotional ones). Tell students that Women’s Lit is not about male bashing; it’s about humanism, and the rule that is enforced in this section of Women’s Lit is: You cannot bash men. We’re all in life together.