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.

In Defence of Miss Jones

I quite enjoy the occasional difference in opinion, and marvel at how defensive I can be.  I think it must be the ginger genes!

The other day there was a semi-heated discussion in the tea room regarding whether or not romantic comedies,  in particular Bridget Jones Diary, are wonderful or ridiculous.

My opinion on this is - 

1. They provide us with some escapism from our world
2. You are guaranteed a happy ending, and likely to come out the other side with a warm fuzzy feeling that all is right with the world
3. It gives single girls the hope that no matter how ridiculous or hopeless you are, no matter how many nights you spend in oversized pjamas drunk and singing “All By Myself”, things always work out in the end
4. It also gives single girls hope that even though there are many Daniel Cleavers in the world.. The occasional Mr Darcy will come and rescue you from utter despair

Yes Bridget Jones is ridiculous, but she (in my opinion) is also real.  Perhaps because I relate to all the horrible mistakes that she has made.  Perhaps because I have had my fair share of Daniel Cleavers, the dastardly cads who like to prey on vulnerable, loving girls.  Perhaps because I know what it is like to have an embarrassing yet loving mother, the awkwardness of having slept with a co-worker and the disappointment of realising that life isn’t a fairytale and sometimes you don’t have anything to eat but cereal and cheese.  Who hasn’t been caught out “in the moment” wearing really really enormous knickers? Or pretending you know more than you do at work?  

And what I love most about Bridget is that despite the fact the she is really ridiculous and “feels like an idiot most of the time” someone loves her.  Just as she is.  Which is what this ridiculous Ginger is holding out for.  

So I ask you dear readers.. What is so wrong with having a whimsical story concluding in a happy ending? Absolutely nothing.

Ultra Violent Zombie Mayhem? Pfftt.

One of my favourite people suggested I write a blog about zombies, and whilst they can be very entertaining in a grotesque flesh-eating way, I was reminded of a hideous book I recently tried to read.  “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The Classic Regency Romance Now With Ultra Violent Zombie Mayhem”. 

As dedicated readers of this blog will know, I am a lover of anything Jane Austen.  I love the whole regency era. The customs, language, dances and love stories all fill me with a warm fuzzy feeling and I gladly read any Jane Austen related spin off written.

This book however, was complete and utter rubbish.

It was unlikely enough that Mr Darcy was a time traveller from present day who actually fell in love with Jane Austen (another Jane Austen spin-off), but ZOMBIES?? Attacking the good people of Meryton and England? 

Reading one scene, the first dance at Meryton to be precise, where Darcy mutters the immortal words “She is tolerable I suppose”, I sat aghast as zombies attacked and the Bennett sisters drew daggers from their garters and fought back.  Mr Darcy, as is his disposition, just stood by.  It was then that I shut the book firmly, went to my happy place and pretended that the whole dreadful experience had never occurred. 

My strong recommendation to you dear readers is if you are ever tempted to read this book, to slap yourself really hard until the thought goes away.

Why I'm Forever Lost In Austen

Once or twice a year, or whenever I feel the flu coming on, I pick up a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice, proudly presented to me by my Father at age 7, I open and...

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that...”

I had a particularly nasty day today, and the comfort that the familiar words between Elizabeth and Darcy bring me still, after a love affair between them and I lasting nearly 20 years, is inexplicable. But it comforts me. Like a hug from Dad, tea from Nanna, one of Pa’s hankies when my nose is runny, it is one of the things in life I don’t think I could ever live without. Desert Island scenario.. I honestly think one of things I would want to be stranded with is my copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Jane Austen is one of my heroes, I will read, watch, listen to anything even remotely to do with her or her stories. I even have a copy of “Jane Austen’s Guide to Dating.” I cannot offer up any rational reason as to why I love her so, but I think it is because I secretly wish to belong to a simpler time, when it was scandalous for a gentleman to be alone with a lady and thrilling if they brush the skin of the upper arm where the sleeve meets the glove. A man that could dance was not considered a “dandy” and one’s world was one’s village. I love the freedom that (Western) 21st Century woman enjoy, and am proud of the Suffragettes who fought so hard for our liberation. But secretly, deep down, I want Mr Darcy to gallop towards me on his noble steed, preferably adorned in wet shirt a-la the delectable Colin Firth and lay his coat over a puddle so my feet will not get wet *sigh*.