Monday, July 31, 2017

Meg Ryan is a LIAR

Romantic comedies have told us a lot of lies over the years. They would have us believe that the following gestures are the height of romance:

Emotional reunion in the rain;
Extended dance sequence;
Feeding one another (let the record show the only time it's ever appropriate to feed a significant other is after one of you has been hit by a bus);
Bathing one another (see above). But the number one, single most over-rated romantic activity of all time:
The Lazy Sunday in bed.

Oh sure, on paper it sounds delightful—a full day devoted entirely to gentle napping with that special someone. But the stark reality is a different story. My most recent "Lazy Sunday" had all the relaxing zen of an internment camp. Ladies, don't be fooled, the moment you set foot in his apartment you're not a guest, you're a POW.

9:00am: The morning's off to a good start with some, er, adult cuddling. But it's a clever tactic to leave defenses lowered. Suddenly I'm ensnared in a snuggle/sleeper hold. There's no countermaneuver. As I lapse into unconsciousness I think, "Must... escape... the dry cleaners... closes at noon..."

3:00pm: W-Where am I? Hungry and disorientated I awaken behind enemy lines. With the fate of my "To-Do" list hanging in the balance, I negotiate for my release. But is that, is that reruns of The Wire I hear?

4:00pm: Morale has stabilized. I was able to convince my captor to allow me food rations so we ordered Chinese. I requested extra hot mustard sauce...but I didn't get any. War is hell.

10:00pm: Stockholm syndrome sets in and the mission fails. There's still a chance I could get to the grocery store today... but first let's watch just one more rerun of Mad Men.

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