illness, in romance novels, is always looked on as something brave and noble, which the heroine accordingly bears with all the grace and dignity bestowed on her by generations of ancestors, no matter how lowly their or her state
it is possible that no writer of corset-swelling fiction was ever sick a day in her life
pneumonia, for example, is a painful affliction oft accompanied by fevers, chills, bodily aches and somewhat of an inability to breathe
or fainting, for example
heroines are always swooning delicately into the arms of their lovers or the rogues who, overcome by the ladies’ beauty, kidnapped them and slung them over horses in preparation for a wild, tempestuous gallop over heath-covered moors riddled with treacherous bogs
in reality, the hearing becomes tinny and ephemeral black blinders block the peripheral vision as a precursor to fainting, which is usually done on the floor or in hospital beds when donating blood
it is not at all romantic
the leaking nose trumpeted until worn raw is hardly appealing to the masculine fancy
nor are eyes constantly watering without emotional provocation
so they say illness is romantic, and that fainting is an activity worthy of a heroine’s time
oh please
haha…your whole blog is amazing. And I particularly liked this entry so I’m commenting. :)