From seventh grade through high school graduation, I had tons of babysitting gigs. The hands down best was watching the two little boys that lived a few houses away from my family. First, because when the parents came home, the mom would pay me and I could walk home in less than sixty seconds. I could avoid the whole awkwardly quiet drive home with a dad. The second great thing about that house was that there was a sewing/storage room with walls of bookshelves that held hundreds of paperback romance novels. They were all bodice rippers featuring wealthy landowners, shipping captains, powerful businessmen and naive but passionate heroines. I would hustle those two boys into bed, pour a tall glass of Coke, fill a bowl with potato chips, and get reading for hours. It never bothered me that the story was always the same with just different settings and names. Nope, I was in it for the flirting, the heaving chests, straining breeches, bruising kisses, and tender embraces. Talk about guilty pleasures and escapist fiction! It was bliss!
This memory of mine was inspired by the Tuesday Writing Prompts over at http://sandiegomomma.com/.