Unrealistic expectations of love.

I spent the morning in bed with Leonardo DiCaprio. Oh, snap! I should have written for Dolly's movie review section in the mid-90s. See, what I was actually doing was watching Romeo + Juliet. Get it? Only back then, my mum wouldn't let me read Dolly, let alone be a staff writer for the publication*.

I am not someone who cries in films, and this one is no exception, despite it being marketing as a tear-jerker (probably. What am I going to do, order back-issues of Dolly?) A single tear did not streak down my cheek, nor did my bottom lip quiver at any point. But I will tell you a secret: I choked back at least one billion sobs. I am a skilled non-crier. You see, I developed this skill when it became apparent that my innerdisgustinglygirlygirl is a fucking crybaby.

I would see an advertisement for Neighbours. Some characters I have never seen before are tackily tying the knot in a tacky little garden somewhere. The guy says in a quivering voice, "I didn't think I would ever love again, not after my first wife died of falling into the ocean off a jetty a few episodes back." And I had to stand up and walk out of the room into the hallway before the waterworks hit. Wah, wah, wah.

Luckily, it goes as fast as it comes. Sometimes I like to wallow, though, which is one reason why I love Romeo + Juliet so. I just lay there and I sob. Oh, it's so amazing, my insides are positively exclaiming. They saw each other and they just were in love. Could there be anything more beautiful than this, ever? As I watched Claire Danes and Leo** embrace in that elevator, all I could think was, "Fuck, is this why my ideals of love are so unrealistic?" Sure, I only saw this film for the first time last year, but I read the play when I was 10. I distinctly remember my age because the librarian made a big deal about how young I was to be borrowing Shakespeare. I said it's only because all your Where's Wallys are on loan. Kidding- I just burst into tears.

Love at first sight. It's taken me long enough to reach my point, now marvel as I fail to explain myself sufficiently. My heart is holding out for someone who I want from the get-go, and who wants me back just as desperately. Whenever I meet a boy, I (subconsciously) expect them to follow me home. Or at least call me within the hour to declare something akin to love.

Huh? What's wrong with me? Firstly, I'd have zero respect for any man who did any of those things. But then I freak out and imagine the worst- they must have realised what a douchebag I deep down am, from that twenty minute encounter in which we discussed how we both went to Paris last year. Or that he's made assumptions about me based on how I unwittingly presented myself. I don't usually display cleavage, it was an accident! I was nervous, so I squeezed my elbows in. I'm not a whore! I hate breasts, ask anyone!

Has anyone seen that Facebook group about Disney films giving young girls unrealistic expectations of love? At least Disney doesn't favour the whole LAFS thing- or at least, not in the one I saw yesterday (can you tell how productive my holidays have been thus far?). Beauty and the Beast. Belle hated Beast at first! And he was equally a cunt back to her. But- worst!- FATE WAS AT PLAY. My secretgirlyromantiqueself lovvvvvvvves fate. Hey, it's cool that me and that guy threaten to have the other sent to the slaughterhouse and use the meaty corpse as a punching bag, because we are, in fact, meant to be. Why else would we be going through all this pain, this endless torture? It will amount to something rewarding. Some day. True love. And if it doesn't, I'll cry, and won't care who sees.

* It's probably the sole reason I'm absolutely awful at sex. Dolly Doctor could have also cleared up once and for all why I am so itchy "down there".