Romantic movies place unrealistic expectations on relationships and gender roles. "PS I Love You" was just another reminder of this maxim. As I sat on my couch with a snotty nose and nothing better to wipe away my sorrows than a dirty sleeve, I found myself comparing Gerard Butler (aka hot Irish dead guy in movie) to my husband. Is that even fair? I’m comparing my completely real-life husband to a scripted dead character who just so happens to have a six pack. Why can’t my husband sing songs to me in a pub and chase me down? Why isn’t he more sensitive? Why didn’t we meet in the grassy fields of Ireland? Why can’t he adore me like he adores her?
And here’s the truth: That guy in real life obnoxious. Think about it – you know the guy. He says the right things and makes everyone believe that he throws petals down whereth she walketh. But guess what? That guy still farts when he gets into bed. And laughs about it. Every night. As if it’s the joke that never ends. If he’s not doing it, don’t fool yourselves girls – it’s coming. And if it doesn’t…well, take a second look into his closet and make the metro vs. homo evaluation. Because real men stink!
So while I still find myself pondering those questions post a romantic movie session, I am grounded in the fact that even Gerard Butler farts. And he’s probably an ass for that matter (pun completely intended—look at his last name!). So for now (and forever), I’ll take my gaseous-clumsily romantic-light hearted Joe over any screen enhanced and scripted emulation of the term “husband.”
