I am somewhat cynical when it comes to the whole happily ever after thing. I admit that. It’s not that I don’t believe in fairy tale endings because I totally do. Only difference is that in my fairy tales the evil witch kills off the princess and succeeds in getting the handsome armor-clad prince to drink her supernatural witch juice rendering him unable to think for himself or ever, ever leave her.
I love it when the bad girl wins and the good girl dies a painful death due to cyanide laced apple pie or some other equally tasty but absolutely deadly baked-good.
That’s why chick flicks make me want to pull my own hair out strand by strand. Unfortunately I occasionally find myself smack dab in the middle of one of them. I wind up watching the entire thing because much like many of my relationships, I figure if I stick with it, maybe it’ll eventually get good.
Or someone will die.
The Evil Red-Headed Berta Lou is a chick flick kind of girl. Some months ago she insisted I watch “The Notebook”. If you aren’t familiar, I demand you NetFlix it without delay if for no other reason than to prove right what I am about to say.
Here’s how this piece of estrogen-dipped film works on those of us with ovaries:
If you are in a happy relationship (in other words, if you are in a brand new relationship where your man has never forgotten to flush the toilet after a dinner out at Bubba’s Mexican Buffet or has begun to think the words “I brushed my teeth” are foreplay), this movie makes you love him even more. You imagine that your love is the greatest love ever and the person who wrote “The Notebook” must have somehow written it especially about you and your Prince Charming.
If you have been in a relationship for more than six minutes however, “The Notebook” gets you to thinking about the one that got away. What if your current partner wasn’t really The One for you? What if that guy you met in a bar in 1992 was actually your one great love and stupid you dumped him because you didn’t like the way he said “wash”.
That’s the thing about chick flicks. They aren’t a harmless waste of time. They are cinematic evil as they invariably cast a spell on their audience and quickly turn fairly sane women into blubbering idiots who take one look at the guys sitting next to them and immediately begin to compare and contrast.
Believe me they will. And when that evaluation gets underway, no man, no where, no how will measure up.
To my mind, chick flicks are to the institution of marriage what Sammy Hagar was to Van Halen. An entirely avoidable devastation.
However, in the interest of being entirely truthful, I must tell you there are two chick flicks which break all the rules and should be required viewing for all humans in the entire universe.
“Gone with the Wind”… because Scarlett proves once and for all bitchy Southern women are far superior to nice women named Melanie.
And “City of Angels”… because the ending is completely true to life. The minute you are truly happy, you are run over by a semi.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. This is one of the very best Elton John songs ever...and I pretty much love everything he's ever written.
(By the way, if you don't have the Foxy Tunes add on for Firefox, you need to get your head in the game! Don't have Firefox??? I can't even look at you right now.)
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