Say… Something!

Boy’s are dumb. No. Wait. Not that I’m wrong, but I’ve gotten ahead of myself.

I’ve been watching a lot of silly chick flicks lately for research and I’ve have found myself yelling the same thing to the screen over and over. And it occurred to me that perhaps a blog was in order. I mean, why not? It dreary outside, my cough is bruising the hell out of my ribs, and I can’t seem to locate an address for Murphy—so I can give him shaken baby syndrome. Thus, you all win. Let’s start with this…

Dear men of the planet: life is not a chick flick! Do not, I repeat, do not do what they do in these movies. They had writers and test audiences. They had dress rehearsal and script changes. You get one shot.

But I know boys. I’ve spent my life hanging out with them and shaking my head at them when they ask me what to do and then ignore what I tell them. Psst… boys? Are you listening? I’ll give you a little tidbit. You can choose to listen or ignore it, but don’t come bitching at me if you ignore it and what you chose to do instead doesn’t work.

So the scene that I keep yelling at? Yes, let’s explain that one! In every single one of these movies the boy hurts the girl and the girl walks away. That’s not the problem. That’s not even the mistake. The mistake came before that scene. Caused that scene. But people are human, they make mistakes. It happens. Shit happens. And even a shoe smeared with the smelliest dog shit can be cleaned. Forgiven.

That’s where the mistakes happen—forgetting that things can be forgiven. In every one of these scenes the camera shows the boy’s face, the girl’s face, and you hear or somehow know one or both of their thoughts, their desire to turn back around. She can’t. Sorry, I can’t explain that one to you—characters may turn and run into your arms, but real life women will not. They can’t. Oh, they want to, trust me on that, but they can’t. It’s weakness. It’s caving. It’s forgiving without it being earned.

And therein lies the mistake. The boy. The dumb boy. See, now I can say that. I’ve looked at those scenes. I’ve thought about every relationship I ever walked away from. And ninety-nine percent of the time, if the boy had grabbed the girl’s arm and turned her back. Fought for her. Showed her he cared. Rather than letting her walk away… she would have cried and smiled and wrapped her arms around him and forgiven everything in a moment. Because he didn’t take no for an answer. Because he fought not only her need for the strength created in walking away, but his own stubbornness and fear to show weakness. He made the effort she needed to see. Which he then of course follows with whispered apologies and full explanations and promises of never doing it again and following through on those promises by showing not telling, complete honesty and love in the form of actions rather than words.

But they never do…

So tell me, oh stupid boys of the planet, how many times have you let her walk away? Now you get to sleep wondering which of those were the ninety-nine percent that would have cried and smiled and wrapped their arms around you.

Of course, please remember, this advice is only good if you hurt her. Wounded her heart, broke her soul. If you pissed her off… well, then you’re on your own. And I highly suggest a boombox outside the window for starters.

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