Giggling Girl

I caught up on the Hallmark Channel’s show, When Calls the Heart for the last day and a half, and I realized something as I watched an episode where this cad courted (albeit briefly) the female protagonist.

He kissed her hand, as was normal in the early 1900s, and I had a giggling fit. Should any man kiss my hand (not that that is common nowadays), I will turning into a giggling girl. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering I adore everything romantic from the Victorian period to the 1920s. Why do men not kiss a woman’s hand any more? Is it because of the advent of Feminism? Or is it just one of those things that died as the decades passed?

I am currently listening to Benedict Cumberbatch’s reading of Keats’s Ode to a Nightingale, and I am at ease. Damn you, John Keats*.

*I don’t hate you. You made it impossible to hate you. Even though I spent eleven hours over a two day period writing an eight-page essay on your poetry, I cannot hate you. Damn your beautiful poetry. Rest in Peace, sweet poet.


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