Sarah: It had to be you and a Wonderbra, apparently. One might think the woman-titty to be a refreshing change from man-titty, but that hint of double-boob from the too-tight bustier? It had to be a poor bra-fitting.
Candy: Yeah, you know, personally? Not too fond of the double-boob. Whoever the “you” is referring to in the title, it sure ain’t the woman in charge of measuring her for her bra fitting.
Sarah: Nothing says erotica like swamp-crotch. He’s going to toss that one back in the bayou lest he risk the sickness of his little alligator. Can’t say I blame him, either.
Candy: This cover totally makes me think of this hilarious bit from Last Chance to See, during which Douglas Adams and Co. are attempting to sneak up on a white rhino (and by the way, the book is, if you’ve never read it, one of the Best Books Ever):
“Sure it’s a rhino?” I asked, politely.
“Yup,” said Charles. “Dead sure. We’ll stay parked here. They have very keen hearing and the noise of the Landrover would send it away if we drove any closer. So we walk.”
We gathered our cameras together and walked.
“Quietly,” said Charles.
We walked more quietly.
It was difficult to be that quiet struggling through a wide, marsh-filled gully, with our boots and even our knees farting and belching in the mud. Mark entertained us by whispering interesting facts to us.
“Did you know,” he said, “that bilharzia is the second most common disease in the world after tooth decay?”
“No, really?” I said.
“‘It’s very interesting,” said Mark. “It’s a disease you get from wading through infected water. Tiny snails breed in the water and they act as hosts to tiny parasitic worms that latch on to your skin. When the water evaporates they burrow in and attack your bladder and intestines. You’ll know if you’ve got it, because it’s like really bad flu with diarrhoea, and you also piss blood.”
“I think we’re meant to be keeping quiet,” I said.
I envision this exchange between the characters:
Man: Rub your breasts against my crotch!
(Woman does so.)
Man: Quietly!
(Woman rubs breasts against his crotch more quietly.)
(Both start peeing blood the next day.)
Sarah: Wow, whenever I think romance, I totally think limp pale-blue feet with hammertoes and ugly polish. How did the art department read my mind?
Candy: Drowned corpses strewn about with roses: perfect for the romantic necrophiliac in your life!
Quadraboob!! I was guilty of sporting the quadraboob during my period of denial when I went from a D to a DD.
What can be said for swamp sex? I will admit to an encounter in a somewhat questionable part of a river with my only excuse being that I was hormonally addled at the time.
Ahhh … While I did feel sorry for Ophelia, I was never really inclined to read about her postmortem relations. Where she got the totally 80’s pink polished toes is a complete mystery.
My husband wishes I had boobs like that to worry about. I’m just thankful those aren’t my feet.
EEEEEWWWWWWW!!! I HATE FEET! I mean, I have a serious foot phobia. In 10 years together I never once touched my ex-husband’s feet on purpose. Luckily he was okay with that. The only feet I can deal with besides my own are my children’s and as soon as they are old enough to trim their own toe nails I will be nearly as happy as I was when they were finally potty trained. I get that most people are not as insane as I am on the subject. I even get that some people really like feet, but those are really ugly feet. Surely they could have found some nicer ones. Just YUCK.
…lest he risk the sickness of his little alligator.
Thank God for Kegels or I would’ve peed my pants for sure on that line.
Then I saw the feet and almost tossed my cookies—Snarkage coming out of both ends—who knew??
*stops herself before bragging about her career as an international foot model*
There is no such thing as bad cleavage. Double boobs = twice the fun, so I don’t know what you’re talking about there, either.
But oy, the dead, ancient feet—I’m with you there. What were they thinking?
Let’s get real. Methinks, Doug, that female romance buyers—who, let’s face it, comprise most of such novels’ readership—would much rather see exaggerated man-titty or man-crotch or man-anything (almost) than have a woman’s fatty spillage shoved in their faces.
The other book’s foot-fetish cover is only missing one thing: a toe tag.
I just showed the boob cover to my husband. His EXACT quote: “What, the tits? Nice.”
I’m amazed no one has commented on the phallic necklace pendant. The really really tiny phallic necklace pendant.
I would so hate to see quadraboob on a man … that would be so verra scary!
“What, the tits? Nice.â€
My husband’s response was “Why are you having me look at boobs?” followed by a shrug and “Meh, yours are bigger.” Which, apparently equals better in his philosophy … odd considering he used to of the “anything bigger than a handful is a waste” mentality before we hooked up.
Ok. This is probably my favorite Susan Elizabeth Phillips cover ever. It is for the Croatian edition of It Had To Be You. Seriously, if it hasn’t been featured yet, it should be.
http://www.svijet-knjige.com/article.aspx?articleid=1089193
Did anyone else think the SEP cover for It Had To Be You was a blatant ripoff of The Washingtonienne, by Jessica Cutler? It’s probably been done a few times, but that’s the one it reminded me of (and there’s no double boob on that one).
I showed Hubby this week’s cover snark. His exact words: “Ooh! Boobs!”
So who was that cover marketed for, anyway?
Ooh! Jo B, you’ve got a winner there! Adam and Eve—completley with snake and really weird leaves. Wow!
I take it the title on the dead feet is not actually—‘Kiss my ankles’ …
JoB
JoB, all I could wonder when looking at that cover was, is that his snake or hers?
The cover of Passion au Nu was also the cover of Tempting Fate by Jaclyn Redding. Do they recylce covers? I guess they do.
I have serious titty envy.
*looks at 47 year old, two babies later, they were never that great to begin with boobs and sobs incoherently*
I’d go for double titty, no problem.
The alternate cover for SEP, with leafy twiddly bits, naked man and snake…well, I’m speechless.
My comment isn’t about the covers at all but the excerpt and, specifically, the bilharzia. Boy, does that take me back or what!!!
I’m serious, back in school we had an African (Senegal or Guinea? Can’t remember) biologie book and the pictures were GROSS!!!! I had to tape pieces of paper over some of the pics or I would’ve flunked the class all together…
I know the pain and horror of poor bra-fitting, so that first cover reminded me of the days when I knew nothing of my real bra size and squeezed myself in 48 and 50 C’s before finally realizing that I was a 46 DDD (you read that right; I’m a triple D).
Second one: I agree with Sarah and Candy—swamp sex doesn’t spell “romantic” to me (and neither does sex on the beach [intercourse in a beach setting, not the drink] or in the woods, but what would I know? I’m a virgin [and not a “virgin” who had sex and suddenly became celibate. I mean I have never been intimate with a guy—ever]. All I know is that if I tried that, it wouldn’t be as romantic as portrayed in films, TV, and books).
The third one—I had no idea necrophiliac foot fetishists was a fan base in the world of romance novels (at least in Germany. Germany isn’t as uptight about sex as America is).
Zeb, I was wondering about the same thing. Can anyone who has read “It Had To Be You” explain? Is the necklace described in the text?
The necklace is a whistle. It’s a football book about a bimbo (who’s actually smarter than people give her credit for) inheriting a pro-football team after her father dies.