Warning: Not for the squeamish. (And I haven’t had this much fun with euphemisms ever.)
I love a good vampire romance as much as the next Twilight fan, and I love it when authors force their ethical vampire heroes to fall in lust with human heroines. It’s a heady thrill to read about the excruciating dilemma of a vegetarian vampire, a conscientious objector when it comes to live blood sport, whose instincts throb in the presence of his One True Love and her pulsating arteries.
It’s why we let Edward get away with stalking bloody Bella. Because he’s conflicted! And hungry! And noble! And sparkly!
But seriously. There’s a question that has never been addressed to my satisfaction by any paranormal romance or urban fantasy book I’ve read:
What happens every month when Aunt Flo is visiting, when all is not quiet on the waterfront, when the heroine is trolling for vampires?
If Bella’s papercut had a houseful of vampires roaring with excitement, do we really think a tampon would do the trick?
I suppose the heroine could go on the pill and just skip the inactive ones in perpetuity. Or until she dies. Or turns immortal somehow, because how else would we have a decent happy ending?
We won’t mention ghosts. Some of us are still bitter about that. (But yes, that would solve the problem nicely.)
In fact, what happens to vegetarian vampires when they’re walking along the street and get a whiff of the crimson wave? What then, author? What then???
We won’t even talk about blue bins. How would a vampire ever go anywhere near a public restroom?
The upside to all this, of course, is something that I can’t believe authors consistently overlook.
If you’re a heroine with a vampire lover, for a few days a month you won’t have to cook your own cucumbers. He’ll be more than happy to eat at the Y.
Better stock up on the bed linen.