This one's a bodice ripper

Today my parents suggested I start writing romance novels under a pseudonym for steady income. (This might give you an idea of how "steady" my "income" is at the moment.) Now granted, there is something inherently funny about one's parents suggesting their child write disposable, erotically charged, cheese fiction, and if you know my parents then it gets bumped up to hilarious, but it's still a solid idea and one I'm now contemplating. Apparently, my mom has a friend or acquaintance whose daughter does this out of San Francisco and makes bank. I feel like I even heard something about going on a cruise to "pound one out" and that just made my heart race in anticipation. (I'm built for this.)


My favorite part is that the last novel idea I had several years ago, which I had 100 %, completely forgotten about, revolved around a protagonist who was a female in her twenties that had a wildly successful career as a romance novelist that she couldn't seem to get out of. (I think I wanted her to be a little bit me, a little bit Joan Wilder.) I even had a really good romance novel alias for her, too, which I can't remember either. It made me feel like life could possibly imitate possible art. And I live for that kind of thing! So maybe this is my calling. Maybe I'm going to chuck it all and write tawdry romantic fiction while sailing on the high seas of the Mediterranean and the South Pacific, meeting handsome strangers (or just old people and honeymooners) and singing endless karaoke at the bar each night. The prospect is genuinely thrilling to me.


And while on the subject of sexy written material, I heard Peter Gabriel's Sledgehammer on the radio this evening and, holy god, is that song about sex? I remember Sledgehammer as this funny song about hammers with the crazy video from when I was a kid. In fact, I am pretty sure that's when I learned the difference between a regular hammer and a sledgehammer. But, today. Today was different. I listened to the lyrics and I was scandalized:


You could have a big dipper
Going up and down, all around the bends
You could have a bumper car, bumping
This amusement never ends


I want to be your sledgehammer
Why don't you call my name
Oh let me be your sledgehammer?
This will be my testimony


Show me round your fruitcage
cause I will be your honey bee
Open up your fruitcage
Where the fruit is as sweet as can be


This HAS to be about sex, right?  But how could I have never noticed this. Because I had to have heard this since I was five.  The music even sounded sexier to me. And yet, I still feel like someone has to say to me, "Gina, I hate to break it you, but this is totally about doing it." Because there is a part of me that still believes this song is just a quirky extension of a quirky man, who would not make sexy songs that young children hear and mistake as an ode to useful household tools. How could you do this to me, Peter? Because if it is about sex, then you totally just violated my childhood.