I think no I’m pretty damn sure movies ruin our lives. We set ourselves up for disappointment. We want to believe that love can be so earth shattering, heartbreaking wonderful. That one day we will have our heartbroken into a million pieces, but it will be okay because it’s preparing us for our happily ever after. How can we love so much if we don’t know how fucking horrible it is not to love. Well I call BULLSHIT! No one is going to wait around for you. Two people don’t find each other after years apart and pick up right where they left off, and there’s certainly no music playing in the background with the perfect lyrics while two people kiss. Yep, it’s all bullshit! You know why, because we are all lazy and impatient! Lazy, impatient, and horny.
What inspired this topic you ask, a stupid, stupid movie called “The Notebook” that’s what. I've heard about it but never watched it until today, and I wish I could rewind the last three hours of my life and watch anything other than that stupid movie. Now I’m sitting here crying like a big baby as my husband looks at me like I've lost my mind. I want that love. I want that story minus the hideous undergarments and pin curls. My poor little dreams are crushed. My hubby can’t take out the trash like he promised much less rebuild a house.
Romance in my house is when my hubby decides to actually brush his teeth before getting in bed. Sometimes he’s so thoughtful he’ll go out of his way to aim his farts the other direction or warn me he’s about to bust ass. That’s love girls. Not to mention the presents. Like the present he leaves me in the toilet after he forgot to flush it when getting out of the shower. Then there are never ending toe nail piles. He loves to keep the excitement in our marriage so he’ll switch it up. One day I’ll find them on the floor between the rocker and end table. Next time they’ll be in the plant pot or in the couch cushions. He tells me he loves the way my face lights up when I find them. He’s so sweet.
Come to think about it, it’s not that different. I have my own real life Ryan Gosling here. Minus the good hair, add a few (80) extra pounds, definitely A LOT more body hair, but he does have the beard. We have our own love story. He may not write me 365 letters or stand in the rain and kiss me, but he does remember to put the toilet seat down, and 96.9% of the time he wipes the pee dribble off the seat. Because of him, I can hit a road sign with a beer bottle while going 60 mph down the highway and he lets me leave door open while I’m using the bathroom so I can continue talking. He won’t read our love story to me every day when we’re old and I’m sick in some nasty home. But I guarantee he’ll never let me go a day without my eyebrows drawn on.