Do you have permission to waltz?

It's been a while since I posted 'cause life has interfered with writing, as it so often does. My younger son is home from college and got his wisdom teeth extracted, which has put me back into "mommy mode". To be honest, I hadn't missed preparing meals for large young men who consume massive amounts of food and still manage to look like they ought to be on the cover of one of my novels. There most definitely is a jealousy factor at work here. When you're scrambling eight eggs with heavy cream and a side of mashed potatoes while listening to an 18-year-old whine about how he's losing weight, it takes a lot of effort not to lose it and bash him upside the head with the frying pan.

But I'm sympathetic over the teeth. I don't have wisdom teeth, nor does my older son. My husband, who still remembers getting his out, and the kid sitting with hot compresses on his face don't appreciate my reminding them that it's a good example of evolution in action, not developing teeth you don't need.

And speaking of teeth, that may be one of the last "taboos" in historical romance writing. We've got heroes who are amputees, eyeless, scarred, deaf and suffering from amnesia, but we don't have any historical heroes missing significant teeth. And with one or two exceptions--Barbara Metzger springs to mind--we don't have heroes losing their hair either.

Don't look at me. I'm not planning on penning the first bald, toothless historical romance hero! I'll let braver souls pick up that challenge.