Chick Flicks

A sense of dread grips me each and every time I’m dragged out to watch a sappy movie. Not because I find that particular genre boring. I just have a problem with getting all sniffly and weepy in public. You see, it puts my machismo in a very precarious position and I can’t risk that happening. Especially in my advanced stage of bachelorhood.

I met up with my cousin, her husband, and another couple (not long after the “nice shoes” incident) to watch the Korean film “My Girl and I” (at least, that's what I think it was called). I was a little bit disappointed at first as the movie poster showed neither promise of car chases nor explosions. I agreed to it anyway as I’d never seen a Korean flick before.

There is a set physiological and psychological process I undergo during these movies - I will do utmost to document it here:

It begins with blurred vision onset by overactive tear ducts, followed by a slight trembling of the lower lip. At this point, I’m glad the theatre’s dark because I don’t want to let on that I’m a huge wuss. I tell myself to be strong. It’s just a movie. They are just actors reading some lines.

That’s when the director drops the bomb. It was cancer in today’s case. My nose starts to drip. I refrain from sniffling lest I direct attention to my sorry state.

As a last ditch effort, I focus intently on the fire exit ‘til the sappy bits are over. I take the time to compose myself and make sure nobody’s looking.

Though it all sounds bad, I secretly enjoyed today’s movie. Probably more than I should have. Shh.