ashleysthought

I have for most of my adult life, stood firmly against romantic comedies and any related subjects in the cinema world. Clearly, we know it’s a lot of bullshit. I am more in to comedies that bring light to stupid things that really happen to people, like when Maya Rudolph shit herself in a wedding dress in Bridesmaids. I can relate to that because there is a very good chance that will happen to me, should I ever have the misfortune of becoming married.

Out of no where, like some kind of avian bird flu, but worse, I came down with a severe case of Nicholas Sparks Syndrome, NSS. It started because my friend, Rico kidnapped me and made me see The Vow , against my will. Rico is “romantic.” I’m not. I don’t really have a clue what happened as far as the story line in the film, because Channing Tatum is so super humanly hot my brain might as well have been saturated with the same movie theater butter that was on my pop corn. I couldn’t formulate a complete thought, much less a sentence. I tried to shake it off, but it proved difficult. A few days after the encounter, my cousin dropped by to bore me with stories about her kids. Luckily for me, she had in tote some books she had read and wanted to pass on to me. Score. One of the books happened to be, The Lucky One. Another super sappy romance that I at first avoided, but then couldn’t help myself.  After I read finished the book, I rushed every day to the mail box to see if any hand written love letters had been delivered. Bills, bills, bills, an overdraft notification from the bank, 100 Victoria’s Secret catalogs, but no love letters. I started getting pissed.

When I started having excruciating mouth pain, I figured, ok this is my turn. NSS had me firmly in its grips. Somehow, I managed to let a wisdom tooth grow in, break  and abscess, all without my knowledge. I have this funny way of letting normal things like a toothache grow to ruin my life. It’s just how I do things. I was very dramatic about the extraction. When I spoke to the “Doctor” about it, I only wanted him to use big words and talk about the potential risks. I asked if I could wear a hospital gown during the surgery. He said, “no.”  I was put under and the Doctor forcefully removed the grossly infected tooth from my head. I could hear the beeping of machines and a young female nurse asking “are you ok?” when I came to. I wanted to say, “shut the fuck up, where is the shirtless man who is here to propose to me?”  I refrained. No man appeared. Disappointed, I shrugged. I thought maybe my life was taking a turn for the better, but in a different more feminist power kind of way. I said to the nurse, “how do my new boobs look?” She let me know that they didn’t do such procedures at this office. My life was ruined. I went home and felt like shit for 48 hours. I took a lot of naps and each time I woke up, I thought about what a jerk off Nicholas Sparks is. I was living in a false reality.

Romantic comedies have made it impossible to have a relationship in real life.

My ex-boyfriend used to rush home from work, burst through the door and head immediately to the bathroom to take a shit for 45 minutes every day. I hated him for this. I bet Channing Tatum doesn’t even have a butt hole in Nicholas Sparks’ sick world. Actually, he probably doesn’t have a butt hole in real life either, because he’s too handsome for farting and pooping.

Reality is the boyfriend who gives you a Dunkin Donuts gift card for your birthday, has a rapidly receding hair line and takes daily shits that require you to buy a face mask. As Frank would say, “that’s life.”

Thanks for nothing, Nicholas Sparks.