We’re talking about luck this week, and as the romance author of the group, I may have a different notion of “getting lucky” than my fellow Debs.
My brain contains an endless list of euphemisms for carnal relations, but “getting lucky” always struck me as an odd one. I picture a guy wearing boxer briefs stuffed with four-leaf clovers, and then I get all ooged out about hygiene and it kind of kills the mood.
Then again, I suppose dumb luck plays a role in almost any coupling.
This is certainly true in romance novels.
A quirky blonde with a lot of secrets just happens to stow away on a boat captained by a hot guy leading the most dysfunctional pirate mission in history.
A woman who doesn’t believe in psychics just happens to get stuck filling in for her crazy psychic mom and butts heads with the hot guy who just happens to own the male strip club next door.
A reformed bad boy just happens to get hired for a construction project at a vineyard run by the girl who got away.
Those are the bare-bones summaries from the three romantic comedies in my contract, and if it weren’t for the happenstance of luck, none of them would have much of a story at all. Then no one would be getting lucky, and what fun would that be?
So I guess as euphemisms go, “getting lucky” isn’t so bad after all.
What’s your favorite carnal euphemism? Keep it PG-13, if you will.
And here’s hoping you all get lucky this weekend, however you choose to do that.
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