I’m Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy

I watched Notting Hill last night.  Normally, one of my favorite movies.  The music, the dialogue, the classic lines, it all culminates into a pretty damn good movie.


I imagined if the situation was reversed.  Girl get crush on famous guy.  They go out to her sister’s house for dinner, but then, come to find out, he had a girlfriend all along.  Then, he appears again, out of the blue, and they spend the entire day together.  Boy gets upset at the press that’s gathered outside, says horrible things to the girl, and then leaves.  A year goes by.  Boy shows up AGAIN, with an expensive gift and an apology and a plea to give him another chance.

By this time, every female in the world is yelling at the screen.  DON’T DO IT.  HE’S AN ASSHOLE.  YOU DESERVE BETTER.  HE DID IT ONCE, HE’LL DO IT AGAIN.

But here we are instead, back to Hugh Grant pining over Julia Roberts and then the music swells and cameras flash and they live happily ever after.

What a crock of shit.

Another example?  Sex and the City.  Now, anyone who knows me knows my eternal devotion to this show.  However, the older I get the more peeved I get at Mr. Big.  He was a horrible, narcissistic asshole who only called Carrie when he was bored.  He never loved her.  He never felt the same connection with her as she imagined she felt with him.  Yet, here we are, cheering them on because he went to “rescue” her from The Russian in Paris.  And then he leaves her at the altar…and we still cheer them on.

What is wrong with us?  Why do we celebrate men doing things that we would crucify our fellow women for?  Why do we put up with ridiculous behavior in a movie when we all know things would be different in real life?

We’re teaching our girls (and ourselves, honestly) that lovely double standard that has been perpetuated since the dawn of time.  I’m getting sick of it.  Life doesn’t happen like the movies, honey, and expecting it to shows me that you’re sadly separated from reality.

I wish real life was like the movies.  I wish a Hugh Grant or a Mr. Big would come and sweep me off my feet and pine over me and love me forever.  I’d love to sit around and wait for a man, wait for him to rescue me or call me or tell me he loves me and make my life complete.  But that’s not real.  And I’d rather be alone forever than subscribe to a fairy tale that will only hurt me in the end.


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