I’m in love with a man who vacuums.
He does all kinds of housework, really: dusts, mops, washes the dishes. He’s mild mannered and never snaps at other guys just for talking to me. He gets jealous but never causes scenes, and he hardly ever growls. Or yells. Or smashes things—he’s only done that twice, not because he was furious but because he’s clumsy. He walks the dogs, changes the baby, and—while between jobs—watches gossip shows on daytime TV.
Also, he sneezes.
I can’t remember the last time I read about a dashing hero who sneezed in a romance novel, unless he was severely allergic to something. Runny noses are just not sexy. Weak bladders are also a big no-no, as the lovely Sofia Grey informed me recently. Nobody wants to read that the male love interest drank so much he had to pee. Men are usually tough with soft centers, possessive, and often led by their primal instincts—traits that are even more pronounced in Paranormal Romances.
But can real life women stand those men?
They’re hot as hell, yes, but how long before the pulling-on-your-hair-while-whispering-“Mine” gets old? How many times will you excuse him to your mother for brooding at Sunday lunch, before you want to smash a plate over his head? How often can you buy new clothes because shirt buttons and jeans zippers tend to get torn around him?
I guess what I’m leading to is this:
How life-like do you need your romance heroes to be, and how romance-hero-like do you want your real men?