I still don’t get why hope is not lost.
You know what used to attract me about so called “chic-flicks” and shows like The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, You’ve got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle? Hope. Hope that by the end of my “movie of life” or by 30, I would be living out a magical moment. He would be well established in his career, smart, good-looking, sensitive…You know, “the list.” I thought hope in those ideals meant “having standards” and “not settling,” but the ugly truth is that some men just do what they want to despite the implications. It doesn’t matter what I have conceptualized about our epic destiny together. I’m far reaching if he’s nowhere to be found when I wake up.
So, as my friend Robert began to make snorkeling noises through his nose–in my defense, after a few too many–whilst I was “going-in” about “the fabric of society being bound together by relationships,” my “aha moment” arrived (leave Oprah alone). Maybe some men don’t share my hopeful sentiments from “chic-flicks” because there’s nothing real about them! No, I have not lost my desire to be romanced, swept off my feet, wined, dined, down on one knee, etc., etc. I still can watch a good romantic comedy/drama. Love Jones is still a classic and Friends with Kids, a truism of life-after. I even hope to write one of those stories one day; however, the love interests may not get together at the end. The groom may not marry the “breasts that will keep him enraptured” (Proverbs).
I still don’t get it 