The conspiracy

I was a little slow with the Santa Clause thing so it’s not a surprise, but I am finally beginning to think that romantic songs and chick flicks are based on lies. I hope that you have also realized there is never a suitor outside the window when you hear a sound at night.

Romance is a conspiracy. Oops, I guess I was supposed to go along with it since I have been given the authority of this dating column, but I am going to sacrifice it all for the greater good and if I turn up in a ditch next week, you will know why.

All of the music artists and directors who perpetuate this lie probably get a kick out of what they keep alive. Maybe romance used to exist but the way I see it, romance is the dead old bird under the tree outside your parent’s house. You don’t live there so you don’t know it’s dead and your family, who you trust, is lying to you about it.

Have you ever noticed how things never go the way they do in the movies? This is because it is very easy to write a romance, or even act one out, but creating one is not possible since romance has to develop on its own without being too forced.

Sometimes after a date I think through a moment I had. If turned into a scene, it would have played out differently. A realistic and true version of the story: my date helps me down from the tree we climbed, we look into each others eyes for half a second… then he walks me home. Hardly chick-flick worthy, but realistic. If it were a chick-flick, then I would have grabbed his hat and ran, he would have chased me and accidentally tackled me to the ground, where for a moment he would want to kiss me.

This is proof of the conspiracy. See how easy it is to write a romance, but how reality doesn’t exactly work out the way it does in the movies?

Children get to the stage when they begin to doubt that Santa Clause exists. It happens around the time they realize the shadows outside the window are not the boogieman. I am getting to a new stage as well.

The sounds and creeks that used to be the boogieman don’t scare me any more, because society has actually turned the boogieman outside the window, into prince charming and the worst part is—we still believe in him.

Tiffany Thatcher, Life Editor dancertiff@gmail.com

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