Last night, I watched the worst love story ever: Once. This adorable foreign film tracks the friendship–and romantic interest (as seen by their adoring eyes)–of two musicians until they each part and live happily ever after with their other significant others. They never embrace, kiss, hold hands, confess their love…they just work together until they don’t. Worst love story ever.
Or, as Ross at-the-lunch-table (who took my seat today, jerk) says: “It was a love story, just not with each other.”
So I began talking about The Last Kiss, arguably the best movie I’ve seen in a good year. I began describing the emotional-ness of watching the main character cheat on his girlfriend Jenna. At the time, she is pregnant with their child and they’ve lived together for a few years.
Then Jordan pipes up, “If I were her, I wouldn’t let him back.” He stops to re-evaluate the sentence, and, manliness in tact, repeats, “If I were Jenna’s friend, I would tell her not to let him back.”
I start laughing and ask him why. His answer: “Well, they weren’t married and they lived together, so they obviously had problems.”
Ah, yes. There are apparently still people in the world who determine a human’s worth on their virginity, et al, and still refuse to watch a chick flick if the main characters are “morally wrong.” Because, as Jordan so eloquently put it, “who cares if he cheated on her? They had sex and weren’t married.”
Incredible.
