Games

"Just tell me the title."

"I'd rather be flensed."

"It can't be that bad."

"It's horrible. You'll think less of me as a person."

"I thought the smutty parts were the embarrassing part of reading a trashy novel."

"Nope. It's the titles. Far and away. And I am never, ever telling you the name of this one."

I started a new romance novel series. 

They're Regency (of course), they came highly recommended by a friend (who has begged to remain anonymous), they have ludicrous, embarrassing titles, daft plot twists, and feature (among other things) chess, double entendre, fencing, duels, and games of strip dominoes. They're absurd. 

They're also delicious. 

***

Some friends of mine, newly single, are discussing a relationship advice book that they've both read. I'm drinking bourbon and doing the crossword on the other side of the room, eavesdropping and biting my tongue so hard that I'm afraid blood might start spurting out of my mouth. 

They intentionally started the conversation when I was preoccupied with something else. Given that my relationship advice comes almost exclusively from Dan Savage (to wit: communicate clearly about wants, needs, and expectations, be adventurous, treat your partners kindly and respectfully) I don't truck with a lot of books with titles like The Rules. 

The dating advice under discussion is one admonition over the dangers of employing polysyllabic words away from being a real Leave it to Beaver trip back to the 50s. 

Don't dress provocatively. Act like a lady. Don't cuss or make crass jokes. Don't have sex prior to four months into the relationship. 

What the book boils down to is: be an unobjectionable, boring, good girl. 

As a lifelong employer of four-letter words and mini-dress aficionado, I'm infuriated by this advice, and by the fact that two smart, funny women I know are swallowing it. 

Another friend walks in during the midst of an animated discussion between the pair about what exactly counts as provocative dress, overhears fifteen seconds of the conversation, sees the look on my face, and pulls me out of the room, thrusting my Kindle into my hands. 

"Here. You look like you're about to slap someone. Go take a walk and read some of your trashy novels. They can't be anymore antiquated than the advice you're getting in there."

I start to laugh. 

***

I like games.

I'm not talking about the shitty I'm not returning your phone call until forty-eight hours later kind of games. I'm talking when you meet someone who's up for a little one-upsmanship. I like the process of finding something that will make the other person laugh, blush, or shiver. I like the feeling that comes when you know you're on your game and that your middle-of-the-afternoon response to their text was brilliant and a little sassy and just enough to keep them thinking about you until supper.

I like gamesmanship, I suppose. I always have.

It's exactly the kind of thing dating advice books advocate against. Avoid that dress that shows off the freckles on your decolletage. Under no circumstances should you send that coyly worded text. Good girls don't give it away, much less ask for it. 

Phhhhhhhhbt. 

***

I'm usually surprised by how progressive historical romance novels can be. 

I'm serious. They leave those shitty dating advice books in the dust. 

Not only do they celebrate asking for it, but they understand that half of the fun of getting to the smut is getting to play the game. Romance writers understand that there's something to be said for cheeky notes, for besting someone in a fencing bout, for sneaking away in the middle of a party for a little (verbal) harpooning. 

More than that gamesmanship, though, is the progressive secret at the heart of every romance novel: 

There's someone who's going to appreciate you for the person you are. 

Is it a little after-school special and simplistic? Yeah, a bit. But I'd rather think that there's someone out there who appreciates a carefully worded text and a little bit of sass than follow some ridiculous, tried-and-true rules about being a good girl. 

And besides, I've got all these mini-dresses.