Jamie Fraser or Indoor Plumbing?

I’m in book number five in a series of novels by Diana Gabaldon called Outlander, and I’ve become so totally involved in it that I fervently wish I was living in the 18th century, in the Scottish Highlands, surrounded by all that is contained therein; e.g., crags, heather, and—most especially—brawny Scotsmen dressed in plaid.  It has become so real to me, in fact, that when forced to emerge from the fantasy, I experience a painful pang of regret because I’m not in the Scottish Highlands during the 18th century.  Plus, to further complicate things, I’m involved in a one-sided love-ish-like-sorta thing with a figment of someone else’s imagination.

How kinky can you get?

My…er, our… hero is named James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser.  He’s a very tall (probably six-four at least), broad-shouldered Scot with long, thick, red hair that complements his ruddy complexion and high cheekbones.  He can handle himself in a fight, using both broadsword and dirk (which is—for you uninitiated lay-people out there—Scottish for “dagger”), and has a pain tolerance like you wouldn’t believe.  He is kind, loyal, and fiercely protective.  His sense of honor keeps him from breaking his word once he’s given it, no matter what the cost.  Plus—and this is the good part—he’s sexy AND sensitive (that’s how you know he’s not real).  In short, he’s perfect.  Oh, yeah, and he has a broad, Scottish accent.  I know that, because he says things like, “I dinna ken that man, did ye?” (or words to that effect).

I’ve never experienced anything like this.  I’ve been wrapped up in books before, not wanting to put them down, but not to the extent that I needed a reality check.   

And the reality is, Jamie and I can never be together.  Period.  It wouldn’t work.  And not just because I’m real and he’s not (which in most cases is a deal-breaker).  We could never be together because I wouldn’t last five minutes in 18th century Scotland—sexy, kilt-clad Scot notwithstanding.  This fact became glaringly obvious to me last week when I locked myself out of my house. 

I won’t bore you with the details, but when I pressed down on the door handle, my life flashed before my eyes.  No, I thought…it’s just stuck.  I had my twelve-year-old grandson with me, and while I was still pondering why the door wouldn’t open, he was having his own little conniption, stomping around the garage, waving his hands around as if beng swarmed by bees.

 “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DON’T HAVE A KEY!  WHY DON’T YOU HAVE A KEY?!” he ranted. 

Then, when I told him I didn’t have my phone either, I thought his adolescent brain was going to explode. 

“WHAT??  YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR PHONE, EITHER??  I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU FORGOT YOUR PHONE!” 

I know…I’m not fit.  I didn’t have my house key and I didn’t have my phone.  We were doomed. 

I allowed myself a few moments of blank mindlessness (as if I could do anything else).  I was stunned.  This wasn’t happening.  I NEVER get locked out!  It was 106° in the shade and we were stuck out outside…oh, yeah, we were so-o-o-o-o doomed.

I collapsed into a chair on the back patio and tried to pull myself together…I told myself not to panic, to stay calm, be brave.  In spite of my internal pep talk, I started to sweat, both physically and mentally.  My head started aching and I began to get thirsty, all the while imagining us dying of heat-stroke (or boredom) before help arrived.  

We did eventually get in, you’ll be glad to know, but not before I was forced to face the unvarnished truth:  Jamie Fraser could never protect me from me.  How could I possibly deal with marauding clansmen and English spies if I can’t face, with courage and fortitude, getting locked out of my own house?

And, anyway, after further thought and consideration, I’ve decided that I much prefer indoor plumbing and stretch pants to chamber pots and corsets.

Sexy, kilt-clad Scot notwithstanding.

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About Cindy Thrasher

What about me? Good question. As soon as I figure it out, I'll let you know. In the meantime, let's just say I exist. In Texas. With a husband. In a house. With two dogs.

Posted on August 12, 2011, in Mulligan Stew and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 15 Comments.

  1. Hilarious! I SO know what you are talking about with needing the reality check after spending time in the wonderful fantasy world…. Whats worse is when the series is over… it leaves such a void in your life….

    • There are 7 books in this series – author is working on #8, so I’m trying to go slow, hoping that by the time I finish #7, she’ll have #8 out. Rumor has it that #7 ended with a cliffhanger.

  2. I loves those books. I read every last one, it only gets better!

  3. Andrea S. Michaels

    ” It wouldn’t work. And not just because I’m real and he’s not (which in most cases is a deal-breaker). ”
    Haha, that really made me laugh, I’m so like that, too! 🙂 Still waiting for my marriage proposal from Matthew Perry (Chandler in Friends)
    I’m a fellow campaigner by the way, that’s how I’ve found you and looking forward to read more from you!
    – andrea

  4. Oh, those sexy kilt-clad Scots! Lol… And the locking-yourself-out-of-the-house thing? I’ve done all kinds of things like that, believe me! Anyhoo, great to meet you, fellow Campaigner! 🙂

  5. Hi there! (fellow campaigner here)

    I love the Outlander series. Also guilty of locking self out of house from time to time. [g]

  6. Fellow Campaigner, New Blogger, and Jamie Lover! I lock myself into and out of places all the time – I like to claim it’s the price I have to pay for a creative mind! 😉

  7. A little book lust never killed anyone, 18th Century Scotland killed thousands. 🙂

    TirzahLaughs, Fellow Campaigner.

  8. Oh I love Outlander Series. I’m in the middle of the second book.
    Fairview

  9. “Jamie Fraser or Indoor Plumbing? Cindy Thrasher” honestly enables
    me personally ponder a small bit extra. I appreciated
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    Thank you -Patsy

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