Subdued Intrinsic

Personal Note: Henceforth, personal notes will come at the end of posts, because they sometimes mess with Title/first line flow.

For those of you who haven't had it bludgeoned into you yet, tomorrow is Valentine's Day (if I just saved your bacon by giving you enough time to grab something not utterly crappy, you're welcome; my usual fee will be fine).

A slightly lesser-known fact about tomorrow is it's also my 31st birthday (yes, I know. I wouldn't buy it, either, 'cept I've got this legal document and all), which means A. I hated Valentine's Day growing up (lots of long-distance boyfriends *sigh*), and B. my husband is doubly screwed if he forgets either one. Not that he would, because he's completely Awesome.

Anyway, poor N. is working my birthday this year, so we celebrated with dinner and a movie yesterday, exchanging gifts afterward. Before we left for our date N. hinted my Valentine's Day wasn't chocolate, but he'd put a lot of thought into it. Well, I did tell you he's awesome.

Oh, there was a lot of thought in N.'s gift. You couldn't argue that. The question is, were those thoughts had while he was in his right mind? The boy bought me a Snuggie. the pink frosting-colored one. It's incredibly romantic, right? I mean, yards and yards of puke-pink fleece screams sexy.

In case you're worried, I did not react badly. I laughed my butt off. I didn't stop laughing for fifteen minutes.

Because, technically, the boy's intentions were good. He made some really good points. I'm always cold while I sit on the couch writing, reading, watching TV. The color is because the one he bought supports breast cancer research, and he knows how much I love buying products supporting causes if I can. I love 'feely' material. To the boy these are all really great, logical, loving reasons to buy your wife a Snuggie.

And while I would never in a million years categorize a Snuggie as romantic, I got it. So, I laughed. And came up with several nicknames for myself while wearing it, names like "Bubble Gum Gandalf", and "Druid Barbie".

But I didn't tell you this story ONLY because it was funny. I've let you in on it because it's a decent illustration of a great little plot thing called 'misinformation'. Whether it be malicious gossip sent around the countryside to blacken the name of a rival or just a bad case of information starting out meaning one thing, but losing bits and pieces along the way until it means something else and all hades breaks loose, misinformation can be your vehicle to all sorts of plot hijinkery.

My absolute favorite use of misinformation is the version I think of as 'incomplete information', and if you want a good example of one person thinking he or she knows something, but knowing NOTHING, of sitting there, reading along, practically screaming in your head, "Would someone please just tell them they're both right!", because if no one does they are going to ruin their whole lives, read almost any book by Judith McNaught (hey, I don't want to hear any crap about it being a paperback romance novel; the woman can twist like she learned it from Chubbie Checker). I particularly like Almost Heaven. Badass, cruel-when-wounded geniuses are my weakness.

So, think of that the next time you want to make a reader cringe with anticpatory frustration. It's the kind of torture we'll pay you for.

And because, dear reader, I love you and I know you are only laughing WITH me, I give you this (be kind, I beg of you):