Our expectations were, unfortunately, misguided as I had to lunge to catch the door before it closed behind the man who hurried off without noticing the look of horror on our faces. I confess I belittled the man under my breath for the wrong I suffered.
How could a man, a Christian man, a Corban man, not hold the door open?
The simple courtesy would have only taken a couple of seconds. Maybe we would have started a conversation; maybe I would have remembered his kindness; and maybe, just maybe, we would have eventually fallen in love.
Or maybe I have just been reading too many Christian romance novels.
They always begin that way: A man shows how chivalrous he is by holding doors open for the women who pass by, even if he was in a hurry. He wins the heart of some winsome girl by these effortless displays of gallantry. The girl, of course, has some impediment to love – she thinks she is unworthy, or, God forbid, she has already given her love away once. To add to the climax, the man is always so amazingly supportive of the girl that he doesn’t care about her past, only their future together.
I swoon just thinking about it.
I love the endings of these stories: marriage and a censored honeymoon.
There is no mention of love fading over the years or men controlling their inept wives. No mention is given to the unrealistic expectations set upon the man, the ones that he will never be able to live up to. These novels make men the saviors of women, the saviors of the loveless and forlorn.
The hypocrisy of Christian novels producing alternate salvation is not lost on me. Jesus may be the way, the truth, and the life, but in these stories, he plays second fiddle to the male love interest.
Warning flags should be raised, protest should be made. The Christians who joined forces against the pornographic Abercrombie and Fitch ads are silent toward the emotional pornography in these novels.
Shame on them. It maybe labeled Christian, but it is as insidious and toxic as the romance novels without a friendly label smacked across. It may even be healthier to read the romance novels that depict lust and hedonism. At least they don’t hide their agenda. At least those who purchase such books know what they are getting into.
So, thank you, man who did not hold the door open; you snapped me back to reality. We probably wouldn’t have fallen in love. I don’t like blonds.