Peace and Quiet

I'm not really sure how to go about this post. I've been agonizing over it in my head for days now, searching for the right words. I just finished Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, by Susan Cain, and let me tell you, it was good. Honestly, it was the literary equivalent of a cup of tea, piles of blankets, and a late night talk with your mom. It was an oddly comforting read, mainly because I finally felt like I had found someone who understood. Susan Cain tackles the topic of introversion with all the detail and emotion it demands. Part of her success is the fact that she's an introvert herself. She is able to combine the scientific and the personal with ease, and the end result is a book that I believe everyone ought to read.

As Cain states, "America had shifted from what the influential cultural historian Warren Susman called a Culture of Character to a Culture of Personality -- and opened up a Pandora's Box of personal anxieties from which we would never quite recover." The American emphasis on charism and self-expression honestly leaves many exhausted. There are those among us who abhor small talk, who actually enjoy observing the party from the corner of the room, who avoid group projects, and who excel in private pursuits. Yet the culture will have none of it. Businessmen who fail to project their ideas with eloquent, vocal confidence are overlooked. Students who choose to remain silent during class discussions worry their teachers. Children who select one or two friends over a score of acquaintances concern their parents with their apparent lack of social skills. Individuals who delve deeply into their unique passions are labeled weird and sent to the fringes of society. America likes talk and openness and activity. I mean... It's all about presentation.

I couldn't resist adding this.

For some people, this comes naturally. Extroverts tend to think out loud, love to flit from person to person to engage in quick conversation, and have no problem contributing in a group setting. This is part of the reason why we love them. They can lighten the mood and bring people together. They play off of others well. They can switch gears with relative ease. If you have ever met an extroverted person with a good heart, you know firsthand just how wonderful they can be. However, not everyone is cut from the same cloth. What does America do with the one third to one half of the population that doesn't think aloud, openly share, or enjoy networking?

Good question. For the most part, it seems, we don't do much of anything with them. We certainly don't accommodate them. Extroversion is more or less mandatory in our day and age. Many folks don't realize they are introverted: They've spent their entire lives playing the extrovert game with the rest of us. As a result, we as a culture miss out on the special gifts of introverts. Introverts tend to be focused, independent workers, passionate about one or two things, and genuine in their social interactions, and while these qualities sound lovely on paper, they don't always fit well with the Extrovert Ideal. Moreover, our extroversion obsession creates a lot of tension. Societal pressure to be extroverted can be overwhelming and damaging. Combine this pressure with the slew of misconceptions regarding an introverted temperament and you have a recipe for a zombie apocalypse: a bunch of burnt out, overstimulated introverts who instead of hungering for brains, hunger for peace of self.

In order to really appreciate all of this, you'll just have to read Quiet. Susan Cain resolves a lot of misunderstandings and proposes solutions to common problems introverted individuals (or their parents) face. In my humble opinion, however, the main achievement of Quiet is Cain's inherent understanding of her fellow introverts. Throughout the book, as I sifted through the psychology and anecdotes, I was constantly cross-checking her words with my personal experience. I'm pretty solidly an introvert: I detest small talk, though I love deep one-on-one conversation, I enjoy working independently, I prefer to observe before joining in, and I relish time alone. Yet there were times where I didn't match the introvert prototype. I kept scouring the pages for my doppleganger, a unique combination of homebody and public speaker. I thought that if I found my twin, her story would be followed up by the answer to all my questions and anxieties over my personality. Yet no such look-alike came along. My anxiety continued to build, and then, on page 226, I found the question that I had been asking all along, the question that had pestered me no matter how much data I looked at or how many inspirational stories I read:

Is there something wrong with me?

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has wondered if there was something wrong with my characteristic caution, my reservation to share my feelings, or my distaste for large parties. (Unlike Jordan Baker, I do not think "large parties are so intimate".) The question was answered a few lines later:

Probably the most common -- and damaging -- misunderstanding about personality type is that introverts are antisocial and extroverts are pro-social. But as we've seen, neither formulation is correct; introverts and extroverts are differently social. 

Hipsters like me dig 1960's Jordan better. And gosh, I'm in love with 60's Nick Carraway.

There it was, in black and white, what I had known all along. Printed confirmation that my preference for a few close friends was perfectly valid, and that my need to close the door some nights and watch a movie was normal. I know I'm not alone in this regard, and I'm betting that there is someone out there who is going to read this and know what I'm talking about. This is why I cannot recommend Quiet highly enough. I not only understand myself better for it, but I better understand my friends, my family, and my classmates. Social temperament can't explain entire people -- that would be ridiculous -- but it certainly helps one to understand them. With understanding comes acceptance, and with that acceptance comes a brighter future. "Introverts are offered keys to private gardens full of riches," Cain says. "To possess such a key is to tumble like Alice down her rabbit hole. She didn't choose to go to Wonderland -- but she made of it an adventure that was fresh and fantastic and very much her own."

Basically, read Quiet. It's good. Goodreads link is right here.

* NOTE: There are various connotations of the words "introvert" and "extrovert". Cain takes a broader definition of introversion, and Quiet includes a note on her definition. I'll simply include the introductory sentences: "This book is about introversion as seen from a cultural point of view. Its primary concern is the age-old dichotomy between the 'man of action' and the 'man of contemplation', and how we could improve the world if only there were a greater balance of power between the two types."

Images: one, two

Hitting the Books

Alright, folks. So I had a whole "I'm back from college" post planned full of poetic verses about how much I love school, how summer presents a new beginning, la di da di da...

And then I realized that no matter how much I labored over that post, I still hated it, and I should really just jump back in to be blogging about actual stuff. So let's talk books, shall we? I do ever so love books. I don't read enough of them for fun at school, since every time I have a window of free quiet time I'm like guess I should be studying ho-hum study study study. However, now I am free! Blissfully free to read whatever I please (more or less), whenever I please (within reason), wherever I please (with some minor limits). It is my goal this summer to read as many books as possible and chart my experience here. I read over every meal I have alone and on every car ride, so hopefully even with work and whatnot, I can get quite a few under my belt before next semester!

I'm storing some of Em's stuff at my house since she lives across the country and she was kind enough to let me borrow the books I'm keeping for her. I've successfully read Snow White and Rose Red (now re-printed as The Shadow of the Bear), Black as Night (also a first edition, now re-printed and edited), and Waking Rose, all by Regina Doman. I had read another one of Regina Doman's books a few years back and honestly did not like it. I still don't care for it, to be frank. The Catholic elements felt fake and I was not a fan of the characters nor the plot -- too far-fetched. However, I decided to take a chance on these three books, all of which share the same characters and form their own little trio within Doman's larger fairy-tale series. Let's just say I'm impressed, and may or may not be experiencing a little bit of character separation anxiety since the four main characters were my constant companions for the past week or so.

First, pros. The characters in these books are wonderful. As for female heroines, the quiet and timid Blanche paired with her outgoing, colorful sister Rose make for a good balance. They are a healthy blend of strong, gentle, and feminine. Male characters Bear and Fish are both solid, consistent characters, although I am totally biased towards Fish. He's the best part of the whole series. Plot-wise, the books were very clever in their adapting old Grimms fairy-tales to the modern world. There were a few plot twists I did not see coming (primarily in Black as Night). Catholicism was woven into the book rather than tacked on. One of my greatest pet peeves is Christian books that stick God on at the end to magically resolve inner conflicts! Oi. So annoying. Another pro was the dialogue, which improved steadily with each book, and was quite good in Black as Night and Waking Rose in particular. In my opinion, while Snow White and Rose Red was an enjoyable read, the latter two books were the ones that really showed Regina Doman's talent for writing a very natural narrative. Also, she wrote one of my favorite comebacks ever:

"I took a few nursing courses at the community college, but I'm not sure I'm going to keep it up."

"Why not?" Brother Matt asked.

"She's trying to get an M.R.S. degree," Leon said in a loud whisper.

Indignant, she raised her eyebrows at him. "My mother didn't raise me to be a fisher of men," she said.

Unto the not-so-good things. Among the cons would be the occasional bit of flowery prose. Some of these parts might have been edited out in a later edition, so take my words with a grain of salt. Sometimes the identity of "the secret bad guy" could be a tad predictable, depending on the book. Also, there were a few corny parts, more so in the first book than in the others. Other than that, I have minimal complaints. The books proved to be the perfect way to unwind from a long school year of serious reading material and to segue into a summer full of stories. If you're interested in reading these books for yourself, links to Goodreads are here, here, annnnnnnnnnd here.

Next up, I've started Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. So far it has been an excellent and enlightening read that extends to various topics, from cultural changes to education and beyond. I cannot wait to finish and tell you all about it. It's a smashing read and even though I'm not finished, I would highly recommend it to anyone, be they introvert or extrovert.

Images: one, two

Movie Review: Austenland

Being the diehard Austenite that I am, I always have to detach a little from history when I watch an Austen themed movie or series. I had to let go big time when Emily, Ally and I rented Austenland on a relaxed Saturday night. Sometimes at school you can get uber serious and all you do is study and have deep conversation and so you need a light, carefree movie to "refresh your palate" or something like that. Instead of giving my metaphorical taste buds a rest, I ended up biting my literal tongue looking at all the grossly inaccurate, not-at-all Regency pastel decor of the Austenland manor, and I squeezed the life out of my pillow every time someone did something non-kosher. ("Why are you people allowed to sit on the same couch? Why haven't you changed for dinner? Where is all the muslin!?") However, unlike some other Jane Austen films which try and fail at being historical, Austenland is all about Jane Austen misconceptions -- an interesting concept to see on-screen.

I'm going to be honest here: This movie hit my limit in terms of appropriateness. It is not something I would recommend to just anyone. I hesitate to recommend it at all, but there was one redeeming quality that made me feel like it was worthwhile for me as an individual. Two words: Henry Nobley.

The basic plot of Austenland is as follows: Jane Hayes has been in love with Jane Austen (and Mr. Darcy) since she was a child. After a run-in with her really slimy ex-boyfriend, she decides to do something that only characters in chick flicks can do: spend her savings on the trip of a lifetime. Jane heads to Austenland, an insanely expensive resort where women go and pretend to be characters in Jane Austen's world -- complete with romance. Hired actors keep the guests' experience… "lively". Jane is staying with quite the cast of characters, be they paid actors or paying customers. Long story short, Jane finds herself falling for the groundskeeper, Martin, instead of the actor she thinks she's being set up with, the gallant, eye-rolling, utterly Darcy-like Henry Nobley. [SPOILER ALERT] There's tension, awkwardness, historical inaccuracies galore, and then, PLOT TWIST! Lame-o groundskeeper guy is an actor who has been assigned to woo Jane, whereas Nobley is a history professor who has been roped into playing a character by his aunt, who owns the place. Henry really is in love with Jane, and as they both are terrible actors, every moment they shared was real. He's in love, flies across the pond to profess his love (and have tea), and they agree to give it ago. Did I mention that when he's not wearing a cravat he's sporting a thoroughly handsome blazer/sweater/button-down combo that makes his eyes look super blue and gives him an air of educated -- I digress.

He drinks out of a tea cup for the pure nostalgia of it. Hawt shtuff.

The thing about Austenland is that it has nothing to do with the real world of Jane Austen at all. The rich patrons (unlike Jane) experience the highest luxury -- not exactly the experience of Austen's landed gentry. Moreover, Jane Austen did NOT (contrary to popular belief) write romances. The sensuous affairs of Austenland's residents resemble penny dreadfuls rather than classic literature. Austenland is like Mansfield Park in many ways, in terms of plot and themes. It looks good on the outside, but it's morally corrupt on the inside. This moral decadence leads in to what I don't like about this movie -- more on that later -- but now, for the movie's redeeming quality, Henry Nobley.

Besides the fact that JJ Feilds has the best facial expressions, Henry is more than just the "good guy" of the movie. Henry and Jane both love the Regency era on account of its social customs, which are all but non-existent today. The little gestures like standing when a woman entered the room or limiting physical touch to dancing were meant to protect love and promote respect. Perhaps Henry and Jane are a bit idealistic in this regard, thinking that Regency England was some sort of romanticized haven, but the fact they have ideals is extremely admirable. Meanwhile in Austenland, the hideous and over-sexualized modern culture mingles with Jane Austen stereotype to create a pink, frothy concoction Henry calls "grotesque". The prevalence of sexual sin at Austenland directly conflicts with Henry's values and belief in proper conduct. Hence the tension between Martin and Henry. Martin acts entitled to Jane's affections, and takes liberties when it comes to physical contact and playing with her emotions. Henry, meanwhile, is respectful in his touch and his conversation. Henry, in his plain and historically accurate costume, stands as a literal and figurative contrast to his counterparts. Also, he has the most endearing ears.

Dat chivalry, though.

Now unto all that I didn't like. Unlike Greek tragedy, in Austenland, all the not-so-nice stuff happens on-screen. There were a number of "scenes" that made me uncomfortable and I didn't appreciate most of the humor. I also find it disturbing how flippantly the movie deals with a case of attempted sexual assault. While the scene itself isn't graphic or overly disturbing, none of the characters seem to take the occurance seriously. It is implied that such a thing has happened before at Austenland and has been covered up on numerous occasions. Yet Jane reduces the incident to blackmail and threatens to make a case and sue the owner. The notion is dropped by the movie's end with minimal fanfare. The offender is seen free -- albeit unhappy -- in a scene during the credits. While all of this immorality played into the larger themes of the movie, I don't think I can justify the tactless way it was presented. The cases of immorality were not dealt with tastefully but rather treated as crude objects of humor. I wish I could wholeheartedly recommend this movie, but alas... I hesitate. Perhaps one could watch it with Clearplay... though I'm not certain there would be a whole lot left.

On a semi-related note…

My favorite Henry moment was after the play (for there is indeed a play, a la Mansfield Park) when he asked if he might reserve Jane's first two dances at the ball. This was the Regency equivalent of saving the last dance, and I very much appreciated the detail.

He calls people ninjas.

And no, I will not stopping adding Henry gifs to this post.

Images: one, two, three

Fix Your NaNoWriMo Novel in 3 Incredible Steps

I usually resolve not to dwell on my old writing too too much...

But then sometimes I get this irrepressible urge to meander down memory lane. So last night I broke out my 2012 NaNoWriMo novel, you know, the one I don't completely hate. For the first twenty chapters, I was really quite impressed with myself. The opening of the plot was brill.

Then it got dull. Then it got corny. The words were superfluous and the characters were downright annoying. Oh, and plot holes! So many plot holes!

I thought about dramatically bemoaning my utter lack of talent to my family, but I decided against it.

I can always rewrite. I can just read the first twenty chapters and narrate the rest in my head. Besides, it's my vision anyways. Even if no one else can see it in all of its glory, I can!

In the words of famous fashion designer Edna mode: "Go, confront the problem. Fight! Win!" Three simple steps. I can handle that, right? See my errors, fix my errors, write a Pulitzer Prize winner.

Meh, maybe later.

Images: one, two, three, four, five

The Identity Crisis

As I love sharing my most awkward stories with you all, I present The Identity Crisis.

A few weeks ago, I was shopping day with my mum. As I can't exactly drop everything and drive an hour to the mall in my non-existent car at college, it was imperative that we cover as much ground as possible. I'm not particularly prepared for this warm weather, you see. We drove the half hour to the nearest (half-decent) local mall and let the games begin.

One of the first stores we frequented was a department store, curious to our local area and typically populated by New Jersey moms -- NJM for short. Notable characteristics include heavy foundation (usually a tone too dark), heavy flowery perfume, and mom jeans. They are typically found perusing the clearance racks or looking at over-sized, 80's style earrings. It came as no surprise to me that there were at least half a dozen meandering around the store while I walked through the dress section.

"Excuse me?" An older woman who was an up and coming NJM, doused in what I have always envisioned Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds smelled like, looked at me expectantly. "Do you know where the men's dressing rooms are?"

"The fragrance dreams are made of"? So the matter of dreams is a perfume...?

 My mouth formed a round 'O'. "Um..." I had been going to this store since I was a wee lass. I could tell you where to find the wannabe snap-on bow ties, the sheer curtains, the maternity clothes, and the baby blankets, but no male dressing rooms. "Well, the guys' stuff is that way. There's probably a dressing room somewhere around--"

"She's not a saleslady," my mother said, coming up behind me. "This is my daughter." And she placed her hand on my shoulder in that semi-protective, semi-proud sort of way that makes you feel like it's your graduation.

The woman nodded a bit. She may have smiled, but I didn't really notice. "Thanks anyway." As she and her husband wandered off, I retreated to the dressing room in the thick of an identity crisis.

"Do I look like I work here?" I asked my mom as I looked myself up and down in the full size mirror. Sure, I don't really dress like other people my age. However, I thought my scarf-skirt-boot combo came across as as youthful and classy, not someone who particularly desired a 40% employee discount on high-waisted jeans and bedazzled velour tracksuits.

"You look like a young college student who is spending her break working and earning some extra money," my mom said, unaffected and looking over her haul of dresses and tops.

She meant it as a compliment. Didn't her little girl look so grown up? Wasn't she flattered that people finally recognized that she was indeed a young woman, no longer bound by the constrains of high school stigmas? However, her reassurance did me little good. I always thought my style made me look mature. Now I felt like the poster child for NJMITM: New Jersey moms in the making. Perhaps I could open my own store: NJMSH (New Jersey Moms Shop Here). Free lip pencils with every $50 purchase. My future was bleak and flower-scented.

I took a moment or two to summon my pride and give my mother fashion advice. Then I dared to venture into the shoe department unaccompanied.

Cue another woman, also with her husband. She wasn't the NJM type, though I still remember sensing thick perfume. I wondered who sold these stinky scents and thought of Prof. Harold Hill and the original NJM, the mayor's wife. Why, Mrs. Shinn! Prof. Harold Hill would exclaim. That style! That grace! That indescribable elegance! Why, there's only one thing that could make you seem even more splendid... She would have purchased not one but two bottles of White Diamonds on the spot.

The one, the only, MRS. SHINN.

"Excuse me, do you work here?"

The corner of my mouth twitched a little. "No," I said, "but perhaps I can help you?" In that moment, I seriously considered making a break for the nearest American Eagle. I was so desperate for a touch of youth that I was willing to don a standard teenage uniform of flannel and jeans. Perhaps if I had put on that pair of Uggs that were stuffed in the back of my closet, I could have been mistaken for sixteen, not have been approached, and left in ignorance of the confusion.

I was soon in the throes of a mini identity crisis. Ought I reevaluate my wardrobe? Binge on Top 20 tunes? Invest in some corny YA lit? Brush up on 21st century lingo? (I can use the words "swag" and "trippy" with moderate success... Is that sufficient?) Am I doomed to be middle aged before my time?

Okay, maybe only one of those questions actually popped into my head. The point is, why should I feel pressure to be anything other than myself? I do not look like a prospective New Jersey Mom. I like how I dress. I don't care if I don't look like a typical twenty-something. For one, I'm not twenty yet, and second, I'm not exactly thrilled with our cultural approach to dress, or much of anything for that matter. The mainstream media offers a pretty bland culture, one that has lost sight of goodness and truth. It doesn't offer identity -- it demands that everyone mindlessly conform. Well, I'm proud of my identity, because I have one. It's always changing, since I'm always learning more about myself, but at least I have one. So I'm going to keep seeking out the "good stuff" in life, and if that means opting for a different movie, opting for some better music, or dressing a little differently, so be it. Let the Mrs. Shinns of this world keep mistaking me for a saleslady! I could care less! (Just as long as they don't corner me in the perfume aisle... That's how the NJM syndrome spreads.)

Images: one

Titles Revisited

Something amazing happens when you reread books. They're so familiar and yet so different. The words haven't changed, the book hasn't changed, but you have. You approach it with a different outlook on life and more life experience under your belt. Books that you once thought were the bee's knees may actually be kind of lame. Yet other old favorites are even richer the second time around. They're old, dear friends who welcome you into their home without any pretensions and don't care if you help yourself to their tea stash or fall asleep on the couch. They just fetch the milk and sugar and throw a blanket over you.

I just finished reading Brideshead Revisited, and I just know it's going to be one of those books that begs for a second go. I'm so glad I didn't read it till now. I've learned a lot in the past year and a half about reading critically and I found a lot of meaning in it, but I can just sense with my reader spidey senses that there is even more to unpack. Rereading Brideshead promises to be a totally different experience from rereading The Chronicles of Narnia or Princess Academy. For those books, the story-world just comes rushing back and it feels like I've returned home. I don't think I'd call Brideshead "home" -- it has a magic of a different sort about it -- but I would call it a keeper. I'm still making sense of the last page. I read it aloud to myself a second time, trying to fully understand it, but there's so much... May I just say that Charles Ryder is the English version of Nick Carraway? I'll admit there are numerous differences between the two, but there were some parts of the book that screamed Gatsby to me. Also, I am going to buy myself a teddy bear and name it Aloysius. Oh, and future husband take note: The English knew how to dress. Looking over screenshots from the two film adaptations, I'm practically drooling over the tweed. Oh yes. Tweed jackets and amazing waistcoats are most definitely in order.

Love the quirkiness of this cover. Mine is still very pretty, though.

I've written a review on Goodreads, which I would encourage you to check out. Spoiler free, I promise!

I'm planning to read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn next, if I can find enough time before school. Hopefully this summer I will be able to reread some favorite titles. Persuasion and Peter Pan are at the top of my list. I am also hoping to get biographies on Jane Austen and J.M. Barrie. Not only do I love their books, but they interest me as individuals and I gobble up every bit of trivia on the two I can find.

* Note: Brideshead does have more mature themes. The content isn't overly explicit and everything contributed to the larger whole, but younger readers take note.

images: one

Valentine's Day: The Enemy of Adventure

That vague sense of impending doom? Yeah, that's a sign that Valentine's Day is coming up. Never mind that St. Valentine(s) was a hardcore martyr(s)/saint(s) extraordinaire(s), look what happened after his/their death(s)! (Plural confusing you? Click here.) Someone, someone who deserves to be killed by a slew of Cupid's arrows, had the brilliant idea to commercialize his feast. Now there is an entire 24 hours dedicated to romance --- and some of us are on the outside looking in. 
* I have discovered that it is held that Chaucer of Canterbury Tales fame first associated V-day with love. However, it was not commercialized until centuries later.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, yours truly is perpetually single. It's actually pretty fun, when you think about it. I'm in that magical stage of my life where I am learning all about who I am. And you know what? I'm BRILLIANT! When things are meant to happen, they'll happen, so until then, I am going to celebrate my perpetual singleness with nut-free chocolate and decaffeinated Earl Grey. No pity parties for me!

Another thing that is lovely about being single is boys from books. You can enjoy them all, guilt-free. No commitment whatsoever. I can wax poetic about Mr. Knightley one moment, and be completely free to drool over Captain/Lord/Mr. Bradford the next. Boyfriends tie you down. Allow me to demonstrate. Back in my personal Dark Ages, a.k.a. my Jonas Brothers phase, I was hopelessly in love with Nicholas Jerry Jonas. (I just scared myself. How do I know his middle name? HOW DO I STILL REMEMBER THIS GUY'S MIDDLE NAME!?) Apparently my baby-sitter liked him too. (Yes, I was still young enough to have a baby-sitter. Awkward...) Well, she was in a relationship with some guy, don't really know who, and we were talking about boys. Because that's what young girls always talk about with their baby-sitters, right? Anyways, I asked her if she'd dump her boyfriend for Nick Jonas, you know, if Nick Jonas ever randomly showed up in a helicopter, got on one knee, and asked her to go out with him for burgers and milkshakes. (You'd have to be careful with the milkshakes because he has diabetes and you'd have to mind that he didn't overdo it on the sugar.) And you know what she said? NO. Middle school me could hardly believe it.

"But he's NICK JONAS!" I gaped.

My baby-sitter finished putting the last coat of nail polish on my nails (because I was also too young to paint my own nails with any success). "Yeah, but I like *insert boyfriend's nowadays ex-boyfriend's name here*. I wouldn't want to give that up." 

HOW CAN YOU RESIST THAT FACE?

Do you see what being in a relationship does to you? To quote The Princess and the Frog, "Hitchin' ties you down! You just wanna be free, hop from place to place!" We all saw what problems Rose Tyler's pseudo-relationship with Mickey caused when she was adventuring with the Doctor. See, I can't properly enjoy my fictional men if I'm dating! If Nick Jonas showed up in a helicopter, I would be taken. Relationships interfere with adventures. Tumnus asks you for tea, Hagrid tells you you're a wizard, the Doctor grabs your hand and whispers "run", Bilbo hands you the Ring, or a portal opens that can take you to any fictional world of your choosing. Your response? "Sorry, my boyfriend is waiting for me. We're supposed to be going out for texting and scones later. Later." ISN'T THAT UBER LAME!?

You can't go for texting and scones with the Doctor (or Rory) if you're in a relationship. Duh.

The more I think about it, the more I'd like to die a spinster. I could don a fabulous cap like Jane Austen did even though she technically wasn't a widow or spinster yet and I could spoil my nieces and nephews with sweets. Ah, yes. I think I shall die alone. Alone and free. Mmm, yes, I like that plan. Spinsterhood, here I come!

I like adventures, which is why I will end up an old maid.

 DISCLAIMER: This post is dripping with sarcasm and should not be taken literally. The authoress is, in fact, content with her marital status and simultaneously enjoys reading about grand adventures and gallant gentlemen. She does not, however, resent dating, nor does she have any intention of dying an old maid. Furthermore, the authoress extends her most sincere wishes for a happy Valentine's Day to all her readers.

Image Credits: first, second, third, fourth