Foolishly Optimistic? Or Hopeless Romantic?

I’m starting to wonder whether my love of romantic comedies isn’t doing me, and other single girls around the world, irreparable harm.

Cause lets face it the following will never happen:

1. A young hot Prime Minister will never fall in love with me (his tea-lady) and track me down on Christmas Eve.  Mainly because I would never be a tea-lady.

2. A hot movie star will not walk into my store, and fall in love with me, giving me a priceless painting and declaring that they are only a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking him to love her.

3. A rich, handsome and intelligent Mr Darcy will not fall in love with my idiotic self, tracking me down at Christmas to tell me he loves me. I would also not chase him down the street in my leopard print knickers after a misunderstanding with a diary.  Mainly because I would not own leopard print knickers (I do love sexy undies, but as a lady prefer black lacy french knickers over your slutty animal print satin).  Likewise, he would not in a sequel, track me down in a Thai jail to rescue me from utter despair.

4. The male escort I paid $5,000 too to be my date at a relatives wedding would most likely not fall in love with me. They might shag me, but would most likely charge me at the end of it.

5. A journalist would not do a story about me being in 27 weddings, and then after a drunken Elton John sing-a-long fall madly in love with me. Probably because I don’t have 27 friends I could be bridesmaid for.

And yet, despite my realisation that they are not real life, I still, deep down, want to be swept off my feet in romantic-comedy fashion.  When you meet a boy in the pub who drunkenly tries to have a conversation with you its just not quite the same as Colin Firth telling you he like you very much, just the way you are.

But you know what. Despite trying to inject some realism into my life, I’ll never ever stop watching them.  Because, on the worst of days they make me smile.