Her Dirty Secret

There was a woman on the train this morning reading a paperback book covered in a brown paper bag, elementary school textbook-style. As the train filled up I happened to end up standing behind her and realized she was in fact reading a romance novel of the smuttiest, most bodice-ripping variety. Presumably her homemade dust jacket was meant to shield the eyes of other subway passengers from the heaving bosom that graces the cover of What an Earl Wants.

Incidentally, it occurs to me that romance novel titles might be almost as awesome as porn movie titles. But not quite, because nothing else could ever be that awesome.