Tawna Fenske: How being a doofus made me a romance author

Tawna Fenske, author of quirky romantic comedies (or should that be quirky author of romantic comedies?), shares an example of how graceful and sophisticated she can be in public. Her new release (out today!) is Best Man for Hire.

Tawna: I am a refined lady brimming with poise and grace.

Typing that sentence just now made me laugh hard enough to spill wine down the front of my shirt. I'm sitting here mopping at my boobs with a washcloth I just realized was last used by my stepdaughter to clean glitter off the table.

So now that my boobs sparkle, allow me to admit that I am neither refined, graceful, nor poised. On the bright side, the things that make me ill-suited as a guest at a royal tea party probably serve to make me a decent author of romantic comedy.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I went out for a romantic dinner to celebrate the 44-month anniversary of our second date.

See? Romance! I've got that part nailed.

My husband and I met up at our coat closet on the way out the door, and he gave me a pained look.

"Are you really bringing those?"

I looked up from stuffing my keys into the little black bag I'd chosen for the occasion. "Er, yes?"

It wasn't that he didn't want me to drive. Well, OK, that might have been part of it. But the reason for his dismay was the fact that my keychain bears a crocheted green penis that doubles as a lip balm holder.

What? It was a gift from my literary agent.

"I might need my lip balm," I told him. "Don't worry, I'll be discreet with my penis."

"There's a phrase no man expects to hear from his wife," he said as he helped me on with my coat.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the host escorted us to a romantic candlelit corner table. After we'd ordered salads and wine, we held hands across the table and surveyed the room. "Check out that older couple over there," I whispered. "Looks like they're celebrating an anniversary."

We both smiled at the white-haired man and woman whose table held a tastefully-wrapped gift with a silver bow. They appeared to be in their late 70s, and they exchanged a loving glance as the man offered his wife a bite of cheesecake.

"That's sweet," I said.

My husband squeezed my hand. "That'll be us someday."

I nodded thoughtfully. "You think they still have freaky sex with handcuffs and paddles?"

That's the moment the waiter appeared by magic at our table. He looked noticeably uncomfortable as he set our salads in front of us.

"More wine?" he asked.

"Please," I said, and he scurried away like a man escaping a pack of shin-humping dogs.

I dug into my roasted beets while my husband forked up a bite of his Caesar salad. He chewed thoughtfully, a look of intense bliss on his face. "This is really good. You want a taste?"

"Sure!"

Like any busty woman who's had the misfortune of dipping her boobs in her dinner plate, I cupped my hands over my chest before leaning across the table.

Naturally, that's when the waiter reappeared with the wine.

"Er, here you go," he said, setting the wine beside me as I sat back in my chair and peeled my hands off my chest, folding them in my lap like a proper lady.

"Thank you," I said, giving him my most ladylike smile.

"Are you two ready to order?"

"I think we need a little longer to study the menu," I said. "Actually, would you mind taking a photo of us?"

"Of course," he replied.

I opened my little black bag and rummaged through it, locating my iPhone beneath a hairbrush and the pair of Spanx I stuffed in there on the car ride after deciding they were too itchy.

"Here you go," I said, handing him the phone as my husband and I joined hands and gave our best smiles.

"Um, your uh—"

The waiter gestured to my lap, and I followed his gaze to my handbag.

"Your penis is sticking out," my husband supplied helpfully.

"Thank you," I said, tucking it back inside.

The waiter grimaced, but stoically fired off a few shots before handing the phone back to me. "How about I give you two a few minutes to decide on your order?"

"Sounds good," I said.

He hustled away, and my husband reached for my hand again. "So to recap, our waiter has gotten to hear you talk dirty, watched you grope yourself, and looked in your purse to see both a phallus and your undergarments."

"You think we're the best table he's ever waited on?"

He smiled. "I think the restaurant is probably going to institute a policy of asking anyone who makes reservations if there's a romantic comedy author in the party."

Here's the blurb about Best Man for Hire:

So perfect he's almost too good to be true…

Anna Keebler makes a living being unconventional. A wedding planner who specializes in more…unusual ceremonies, Anna's client list includes everything from nudists to paintballers to Little Red Riding Hood enthusiasts. So when her photographer up and quits during a wedding blitz in Hawaii, Anna makes an unconventional decision. She hires a hot Marine to be her new photographer.

Little does she know, Grant Patton is the best man in one of her weddings. He's so perfect he's practically a Boy Scout—if Boy Scouts were big, ripped Marines with gorgeous gray eyes, and good at, oh, everything. Especially sex. In fact, his only flaw seems to be that he hates marriage as much as she does. But Anna suspects the sexy Boy Scout routine is a cover, and if he wants this thing between them to be about more than sex, Grant must reveal the dark past he's fought so hard to hide...

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Find out more about Tawna and her books at tawnafenske.com.