Charlotte Temple and I Are Bosom Buddies

Last night at midnight, I came to the sickening realization that I am Charlotte Temple.

If you don't know who she is, She is the main character in Susanna Rowson's novel, Charlotte Temple. This novel is a quintessential sentimental novel. It is full of exaggerated emotions, vermilion cheeks, streaming tears, fainting (lots and lots of fainting), joyous outburst and, sappy letters. I read Charlotte Temple recently for my Early American Literature course. It was a real page turner. You just can't wait to find out what is going to happen to Charlotte next. She is a very ambivalent character, usually allowing her mind to be made up by those around her. In general that makes for a very boring person. Unless a character like this is surrounded by villainous characters (and, you had better believe they don't get much more villainous than the type she hangs with), then this sort of character has a turbulent life journey. Charlotte worries about what is proper and what is not. She takes pride in herself for being the sort of girl that never disobeys her parents or is alone with men. Nevertheless, she ends up being influenced to elope with a soldier who has no intention of marrying her. She is left alone, in a foreign land, and because she fornicated----that's right---she has a baby in the belly.

I feel I must stop here to clarify. I am not exactly like Charlotte Temple. My sickening midnight realization did NOT come after I was deflowered. I am not pregnant. (Don't worry mom) there has been no, and will be no, premarital deflower-ification in my life. Also, if you think my parallel to Charlotte is my propensity toward fainting: you are close, but no cigar.

Eventually, everyone in the novel gets what they are due and the world moves on. I have to admit, I enjoyed it. Maybe not for the reasons that Rowson would want me to, but I am fine with that. I am also enjoying reading some of the recent criticism of the novel.

Last night I was reading one such criticisms and was really hungry. I pride myself on having a fairly healthy diet. Really, over all, I do well. For dinner last night I had banana squash, a baked potato (both with olive oil and salt and pepper), some grilled chicken, 2% milk, and spinach. Usually this would fill me up. But last night, I just had to keep on snacking. I snacked and snacked. Finally it was 11:40 p.m. and I was staring at the pantry thinking "I have had all of the snacks I have on hand, I don't want anymore of these. If it didn't cost money and if it weren't really unhealthy, I would go get some fast food." Then my roommate walked into the room. I said "Man, I am really hungry. I might just bread down and get some fast food."

"You should. Well, I am off to bed" said my roommate.

With that suggestion, I grabbed my overcoat, my keys, and my cap and got into my '94 Cadillac and went to a fast food place. As I drove home, the warm fat-sodium-sugar-and-disease sitting on my lap, I pondered my indecisiveness and how my inability to choose lead me to choose exactly what I wanted to avoid.

Pellucid drops of solemn woe fell down my cheeks as I bit into that warm nutrient-less bun and processed the cheap rubbery cheese, the fragrant onion and the firm ground beef between my molars. Okay, so I didn't cry, but if my life were a sentimental novel, I probably would have cried, fainted and choked on that dollar menu hamburger. And then whoever found me in that sad condition would have gasped and fainted too.