Come Friday, I’ll probably be spending Valentine’s
Day alone yet again, but this year I’m putting the blame on
someone other than myself: more specifically, those
estrogen-filled, male-deprecating movies known as
“chick-flicks.”
Title them whatever you’d like ““ be it
“Sleepless in Seattle” or “Two Weeks
Notice” ““ modern-day romantic comedies have all seemed
to work against me in the same vicious way rich guys driving
Ferraris make me look when I borrowed my dad’s ’85
Volvo.
Holding romantic comedies exclusively responsible for my dating,
or rather dateless, situation, I’ve determined that they are
the sole reason why it has become unacceptable for guys to ask
their dates to do things such as order from the kid’s menu or
have them hide in their trunk to save money at drive-in
theaters.
Think about it fellas, when was the last time your girlfriend
got excited when you told her that you guys were going out for
39-cent-cheeseburger Sundays or staying in for a Blockbuster night?
Probably not too
recently, or more likely never. And it’s because these
movies have relegated these tactics in women’s minds as
nothing more than a cheap man’s poor attempt to spend as
little money as possible and still disguise the evening as a
date.
According to modern-day love stories, if a guy takes his date on
anything less than a trip to the top of the Empire State Building,
or a carriage ride through Central Park, it would be inexcusable to
call it romantic. What about a good old walk through Westwood
Village?
Don’t get me wrong though, if I had a $60 million studio
budget to work with, I would definitely take my dates out on
helicopter rides around the city as often as the next Joe
Millionaire. But seeing as how I’m operating more on the
wages of an intern, my options are limited.
It’s unfortunate that these movies have even managed to
make dates, such as magical midnight walks along the pier, appear
shameful if the guy doesn’t end the evening with a dazzling
fireworks display from across the harbor.
Before I know it, I’m sure that even the practice of
having my dates hide food in their purses for me before entering
the theater will become extinct as well.
What then are guys left to do in order to change the
situation?
An easy solution would be to stop taking girls to the movies,
but a better alternative might be to convince them that they really
wouldn’t want to be going out with someone like Tom Hanks or
Hugh Grant. Isn’t there still a certain charm to cuddling up
with a guy your own age after a night of cramming for midterms
together at the Coffee Bean, or taking a walk around the sculpture
garden? I mean, come on now, who actually wants to be the Valentine
of a famous actor worth millions of dollars?
On second thought, it looks like I’ll be eating those
cheeseburgers alone this weekend.
If you can settle for drive-in movies and spaghetti from the
kid’s menu, e-mail Yu at cjyu@media.ucla.edu.Â