Just about every romance has ’em, even if it happens in a flashback. Due to Plot Shenanigans, the hero and heroine are thrust (har har) together into some memorable (we hope) scene. In Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, the meet cute comes at that first country dance when Lizzie lays eyes on the dashing but stuck-up Fitzwilliam. In Christina Lauren’s Dark Wild Night, which I recently reviewed, the meet cute happens looong before the book’s beginning, when the two main characters get married in Las Vegas as strangers, walk around talking all night, and then get an annulment. In the movie French Kiss, the hero and heroine meet on an airplane, where the hero is trying to smuggle things and the heroine is terrified of flying but determined to go to Paris and drag her cheating fiance home.
What happened to me today, was not a meet cute. This is no romance, people, this is a pit stop on the way to freedom. I show up at this little neighborhood of cabins, hoping for a place to stay for a couple of days because let’s face it, as much as I love my Chevy truck, I don’t want to live in him anymore (yes, my truck is a guy. Phil is his name, if you’re curious).
I’m getting comfortable, making friends with the locals, putting my duffel bag into an empty camp trailer, when VOOM up comes six feet of angry muscle dude, demanding to know why I think I should stay here.
Readers, I put that alphahole in his place. In the name of anti-meet-cutes everywhere, I pretty much guaranteed myself an enemy for the duration of my stay. #SorryNotSorry
Until next time,