Edema Rue

She smelled of cut grass and gasoline. Grease was splattered across her face and arms. Sunburned cheeks, a messy ponytail, the sun dancing in her eyes. She had muscle lines and calloused hands. She was beautiful.

okay, [romance author]  

Come on

cut grass and gasoline?? Those aren’t good smells. I smell like cut grass and gasoline. It’s icky. If you smelled it, you’d run in the opposite direction. Covered in grease just means you can see exactly where she brushes hair out of her eyes. Sunburns are for beach girls—no one who works outside all day has time for one. You wear sunscreen, or you get tan enough that you can’t burn. Messy ponytails aren’t hot. Everyone’s eyes sparkle when the sun is in them. Callouses are peeling skin. Do you want a leper?

And guys, girls who work don’t get muscle lines. You get arms so thick they don’t fit in dresses or cute shirts, that’s all. If you’re after a girl who looks ripped, get yourself a tiny dancer…oh, wait, but that’s a stereotypical definition of beauty, and we can’t have that. People will call us sexist.

So maybe we’ll give you an athlete…someone who works nonstop at her sport, someone who’s tough physically and mentally, who’s so good at what she does watching her feels like magic.

try again. She’ll still smell like grass and sweat. Will you still want her when she has phlegm and spit and dirt crusted around those pretty lips? How about when she’s drinking mustard packets and pickle juice for electrolytes?

yeah…get over yourselves, romance authors. Do some research. We aren’t hot. 

(Well, I am, but I’m the exception. Obviously).

that will be all.