Reluctant Red

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” ~Mr. Darcy

I love Taylor Swift against my will. Love. For a while I pretended I was buying her music for my kids, but when I’m blasting her CDs on shuffle as I drive alone in my car, singing along with every word of even her most obscure songs, I know I need to stop denying what we have together.

When her new album Red dropped this week, I was proud of myself for waiting until the day after release to pick it up because I wasn’t going to be near a Target on release day and didn’t want to go out of my way. I thought that showed great restraint. Why didn’t I just pre-order on Amazon? Good question.

Because the Target version of the CD has several bonus tracks and what’s better than a CD full of emotional songs about teenage break-ups? A LONGER CD full of emotional songs about teenage break-ups. Indeed it is.

I love Taylor Swift because her songs are about raw emotion and angst and drama, whether real or imagined. Essentially, I love her for the same reasons I love writing young adult fiction. The highs are so high. (You flew me to places I’ve never been) The lows are so low. (Now I’m lying on the cold, hard ground.) I could always use a little more passion in my life.

And her songs are danceable. And they’re fun. And when I listen to them, I feel like she stole material from my junior high journal in all its melodramatic glory. It’s the kind of music that makes you stop at your girlfriend’s house on the way home from Target with a swagger wagon full of kids so you can blast your favorite new song and dance together in the front seat, while your exhausted toddler sleeps like a log in the back seat.

Listening to Red last night brought me back to the days of 6th grade Paula Abdul obsession. Forever Your Girl!!1!!!111! How many artists have CDs I’m content to listen to all the way through? Over and over?

I just wish her perfume didn’t smell so freaking good, because I draw the line at trying to smell like a 22-year-old pop/country starlet. Yes, I smelled the perfume. Don’t judge me.

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