Please welcome Vicki Batman to Romance Lives Forever with a post on getting away and finding your heroes.
Last December, my girlfriends and I went on our annual Christmas getaway. We ate great food and checked out historical homes decorated for the holidays.
After we returned to our rooms and put on our comfy jammies, we exchanged gifts and then chatted about stuff. All kinds of stuff. This time, the topic turned to handsome hunky heroes.
Yeah, we went through all the normal attributes heroes are perceived to be, like firefighters and policemen, military, etc. Out of nowhere, I added, "My heroes are handymen--plumbers, carpenters, and fixer-uppers like the guys on HGTV."
Needless to say, hysterics took over us.
But it's the truth. We'd rather have someone who could clean the pipes, patch a hole in the wall, fix a light fixture, and nowadays, keep our computer running. Those are real men.
The giggles continued on when we began discussing the HGTV hosts that rock our world. And we did wonder if they were as helpful at home as they appear to be on television.
I tend to write about everyday heroes in my sweet meet stories. Chances are we encounter them in real life over a Navy Seal or Army Ranger. The lawyer who volunteers to run a Christmas tree stand. The accountant who helps someone figure out how to fund a business. The restaurateur who provides jobs and helps the local animal shelter. The store owner who wants to help his sick dad have a wonderful, last Christmas. The architect taking over his mom's business when she retires. The pilot donating a kidney. The schoolteacher who coaches a team.
They don't--usually--risk life and limb; they are the unsung guys who keep us going every day. Just normal average Joes.
Those small things are truly heroic.
BTW, did I mention the electrician is a fireman?
What kind of hero do you like to read about? Who are your heroes?
By Vicki Batman --
or Bust San Diego
After what was supposed to have been a romantic getaway to
, Jill Grant
decided her boyfriend, Davis Griffith Swansea III, was a dirtwad. Absolutely,
none of her planning had pleased him and to top it off, he hadn't proposed. So
when deplaning, Steven Cartwright comes to her aid, and she begins to question
whether her Mr. Right is the right Mr. Right. San Diego
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My boyfriend is a dirt wad. I just decided.
With a humpf, I dragged my pink tote up the narrow aisle to the plane's exit, accidentally banging it into the seats along the way. The relieving notion of being back home in Sommerville caused the tension in my chest to fade a smidgen.
A quick peek to the exit told me where Davis, my boyfriend, stood waiting for the okay from the ground crew to head out. His glance my way didn't look at all pleasant. Similar to one wrapped in disappointment with a downward tilt of his mouth.
I didn't care much. I just decided.
The words creep, jerk, moron, and “why in the hell am I still dating him??” jumbled my thoughts around. My heart pounded as anxiety ratcheted inside me again.
Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should not put up with him anymore.
The deepest part of me knew I shouldn’t be with Davis Griffith Swansea, III any longer. I was just in denial. Over the past year, I’d had brief, momentary twinges of dumping him; then, he’d go and do something incredibly romantic like bring me Godiva chocolates--“I know how you love these.” Or buy me a new book by my favorite author--“I happened to see this today.” Or whisk me off to an intimate dinner à deux at the latest and greatest bistro--"I know you'll like this place."
My head had gone stupid.
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