Why I don't like Jane

Feeling slightly guilty that I live in the world of Jane Austen, gallivanting round the same countryside where many of her books are set, and have absolutely no appreciation for it at all.

For years I've been an avid resistor of all things Austen. Many a friend will testify my enthusiasm for a Jane Austen marathon, as it means I can take a six hour nap on Naomi's leather lounge. I'd rather be dreaming about Vin Diesel than Mark Darcy.
Although the sprawling mansions, gorgeous countryside and decadent lifestyles are intriguing and impressive, I've never wished to be a part of it all. The big flouncy dresses don't impress me, not to mention the flouncier men who wouldn't know what to do with a wrench if you smacked them with one. 

The reason is simple: back in those days (whenever it actually was), people of my race and colour were relegated to the kitchens, boiler rooms, and gardens. Come to think of it, I've not even seen anyone with a hint of a tan in any Austen movie, although I do admit I am usually checking my eyelids for holes whilst watching.

Even though I identify myself as a proudly born and bred Aussie, one look at me and it's clear- a fair maiden I am not.

Jealous, you say? Maybe. I think it's more being reasonable and knowing my historical position in society. Either way, I prove a challenge to many friends in their attempts to engage me in the world of Jane Austen. Show me a brown skinned heroine and I may be more interested.