Threshold

Threshold

I never thought I would want kids (unless they were served with a nice white sauce and a side of broccoli), but now I'm thinking it would be fun to tell them they'd better settle down cuz "I'm reachin' my threshold!" For the rest of their poor lives they wouldn't be able to hear a story of someone crossing a threshold without thinking of punishment. (Heh heh, serves 'em right for bein' kids.) 


Then I was thinking that I'm surprised romance writers don't use it - especially once we all know that the lovers are destined to be joined both here and in the hereafter.* 

     He kissed her tenderly, removing her bodice with his pearly white teeth. As he explored her womanhood he could feel his baton of manhood start to pulse in expectation.
    "Oh, Oureole," he looked deep into her bright blues with his limpid browns, "I must have you, you must be myne!"
     "Yes, Lance," Oureole put a hand to her fevered forehead, "before I invite you to cross my threshold, how can I be sure of your love?"
     "Oureole, I have traveled in time from the Renaissance to the French Revolution to today - June 27, 1885. I have been a wolf, a bat, and an armadillo. How can you question me?"
     "Oh, Lance, cross myne threshold! Cross myne threshold and sing sweet songs in my parlour!"

Now isn't that nice? Women in these books will no longer be known as virgins, but as Women with Thresholds Uncross'd. 


*Or is it 'thereafter'? I mean really, 'hereafter' makes no sense - they're no longer here, they're there....duh.