Sometimes, in my pursuits to avoid all things needing my attention (you know- the dishes, laundry, vacuuming, children, etc…), I decide it is a good idea to read a book. But, I have to be careful what genre I read.
The Drama of Jane Eyre
My dear Reader, I feel inclined to share my tale of chivy with you….
I have thus been reading Charlotte Bronte’s novel Jane Eyre and as I have an inclination to do, I poured myself into the novel, becoming too intertwined with one, Jane Eyre.
Thus when my dashing Mr. Rochester arrived home from work, I was in such a disposition to receive interminable love, affection, attention, and doting from my master.
He, on the other hand, was fatigued from his long work day. He was long past doting and doing anything but cleansing himself from the mire of his work with a long, soothing shower.
My Mr. Rochester entered the sanctuary of our washroom where he was greeted by the ingenious artwork entitled “half a tube of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror” painted by young Master Tate.
He balked at the newly painted masterpiece and cried out in choler as to why Mater Tate should be allowed to utilize our washroom and toothpaste to contemplate on the artistic things of the world.
In doing so poor Mr. Rochester spilled a whole cup of Q-tips on the floor.
I, sensing his displeasure, made a mental note to fire the maid and governess for their lack of attention to the “creative” outbursts of Master Tate. Mr. Rochester should never behold such a spectacle upon retiring to the washroom for a steamy shower.
Nevertheless, Reader, I bid you come with me into my thoughts as I watched poor Mr. Rochester ceremoniously cleaning up the Q-tips.
Thought I; Phooey with the Q-tips. Come hug me, love me, behold my presence! Am I not more consequential than Q-tips?
“Leave yonder Q-tips, and come to me, my dear husband!” I called.
“I am cleaning up my mess.” Mr. Rochester replied.
“Come Now, forget the Q-tips which so easily beset you, come to me, I shall have the maid clean them up later!!” I replied.
“I am Cleaning Up My Mess.” Mr. Rochester replied with brevity.
“Oh, dear me, am I lowlier than a Q-tip in thine eyes?” I called as tears stained my eyes.
I am Jane Eyre, love me Mr. Rochester!
Reader, I shall not be reading romantic love stories, no matter how classic, for a long while. I am too emotionally involved in them.
Speaking of Mr. Rochester, read about how he saved our marriage with a phone charger.
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