Why do single girls, like myself, sit and wallow ourselves in hopelessly romantic movies and chick literature? Like it would make us feel better? We know Prince Charming doesn’t exist and we still let ourselves get our hopes up during those 93 minutes and 57 seconds that my Mr. Right’s just around the corner!
I know this. And yet here I am. It’s 11:13 pm and I’m laughing, crying and obsessing over this fictional guy I love, like the main character. Who, by the way, are like super cute, two sizes smaller than me and have a sense of humor that would make any guy want to marry her on the spot, ’cause she would fit perfectly in his crowd of friends and they would all love her. Including his mother and his 14 year old, drooling dog called Spike.
But what’s wrong with romance? Am I unrealistic for wanting some kind of romance in my life? Would it be impossible to find a guy who would cook me my favorite meal when I’m having a shitty day? I guy who would lie to me and tell me I’m beautiful even though I’ve got the flu and are barfing down the toilet?
Forget all the crazy stuff that always happens in those movies. Like stuff like that would happen for real. It’s the idea that, even though my breath smells horrible in the morning, I have more than a few – not so ladylike – personal traits and have a crazy family that I love… and hate… and hate that I love, there is this guy who would willingly have me. Despite of all that.
Sometimes I think romance is dead. I do get my hopes up during a romantic movie… oh… nope, there it died again…
Oh well…. *clicking play*