Romancing the Rust

Monday night my roommates (well the ones not watching 24) watched The Bachelor in Paris. Seeing the clips of previous shows, I started getting really annoyed (and annoying, I’m sure). As proof that true love can be found on reality TV, the show was interviewing the past couples who are now married or engaged. Granted I was not there, but I find it hard to believe that real love blossomed in a time when the show’s bachelor (or a couple of times, the bachelorette) shared intimate moments (i.e. sex) with quite a few of the remaining contestants. Perhaps love did exist, but I became embittered watching the edited reels that made it look like “it was love at first sight.” Puke.

Then, the roommates and I began discussing Trista and Ryan’s love. (Yes, I realize for the cynic I am, I’ve watched way too many seasons of this horrid show) I was completely disgusted by Ryan in the last few episodes of that season. Near the end, he wrote Trista a poem and cried when he read it. Barf. I declared that I would not want a guy to do that. Roommate #1 wasn’t quite as turned off as I, but Roommate #2 said she would actually like this display. When my two-minute analysis of our view of love was complete, it was clear our views of romance were developed from our parents. I have not seen my dad cry in 25 years, so seeing any guy cry while reading a poem just doesn’t fit into my vision of what a guy should be. Roommate #2, however, said her father would do something like that. Thus, that’s why she would expect, or at least like something like said poem reading. But to me, that’s just not romance. At all.

Ironically, on Tuesday, I happened upon a how-romantic-are-you? quiz. My score out of 100 was 47. I was labeled a “borderline romantic.” My test results told me, “Though you aren’t entirely wooed by splendid shows of love, you can get into a little bit of romance.” For the most part, I have to agree. I mean, I do count Love, Actually as one of my favorite movies.

And as the intrepid February holiday was this week, I had to ponder just how borderline romantic to be. Although I did hang out with a certain guy that night, he and I opted for a very non-V-Day night. As I was getting dressed, I wondered how non-V-Day to be. To give a real middle finger to the day, I considered wearing my “Boyfriends are Replaceable” shirt (not that I’m labeling him or I in any way here), but I opted against it. Yes, said guy probably would have thought it was funny. But I figured wearing said shirt around him would be disrespectful. And I’m just that darn romantic that I don’t want to disrespect him. Next year, though, I’m definitely going to the burlesque show/Mexican wrestling/midget throwdown on February 14.