Friday was my last day as a regularly-employed nanny. Can I get a what WHAT?! No more will I have to be threatened with bodily harm by an 8-year-old. No longer will I be blamed for things that are in no way, shape, or form my fault. No longer will I be treated like a servant and be expected to clean up after an entire family. Needless to say, it was time to celebrate. I went out with McNerdy and my roommate for food and pitchers of cheap beer. We had a fantastic time getting drunk and me ranting about the problems of children being in therapy. Then we decided to move on to another spot for a nightcap. For the first time in ages, I returned to the scene of the crime. The same tiny bar where the cute neighbor told me he didn't want to be just my fake boyfriend anymore, and where I pushed Fenella into the bathroom and held her hostage while I peed and told her what had just happened and after which I went running across the street to knock on the cute neighbor's door at 2am for a film-worthy passionate kiss. And then I got really sad.
I was sad because according to the movies, that was the beginning of our happily ever after. In Two Weeks Notice, Sandra Bullock went running down the street after Hugh Grant for the same passionate kiss. In Notting Hill, Hugh Grant went racing all over London to find Julia Roberts and tell her he had been a "daft prick" and win her back. In Love Actually, Prime Minister Hugh Grant went door-to-door looking for Natalie, before also ending things in a passionate kiss at the school Christmas show. And then they all lived happily ever after. It was very easy. They didn't have geography to deal with; one half of the couple didn't move to one side of the world for work while the other went to the other side of the world for grad school. They were all very successful and the economy was booming, and they just chose to live happily ever after and never had to deal with these kinds of issues.
This tells me one thing: Hugh Grant is a liar. In real life, even if you have a Hollywood ending as a beginning, that doesn't mean you won't be searching for solutions to find the time and money to see your significant other before you leave the country. It doesn't guarantee you'll be together every Saturday night until the end of time. And my missing him that much caused me to have a dream last night where he spontaneously decided to come visit, let himself into my house, then my bedroom, and then my bed while I was sleeping. And then a lizard walked across my bedroom floor on its hands. (Do lizards even have hands?!)
Lies! They are all lies! I don't want to be Will and Viola from Shakespeare in Love, with a heartbreaking, inter-continental separation and forced marriage to an alarmingly un-charming Colin Firth with a stupid dangly earring! I want to be George and Lucy from Two Weeks' Notice, with witty banter and our own helicopter.
It's devastating to learn that my favorite romantic comedies are all lies. Maybe that's the next thing Grayer and I should put on our list of money-making schemes: Realistic romantic comedy. Or pick up where the movie left off to include arguments, complications, and infertility. I think there would be a huge demographic ready for that.
And on a separate note, this is the last in my series of "I'm so sad I miss the cute neighbor" posts. I think I've had sufficient enough time to move on to something funnier and more positive. I promise. Thanks for bearing with me.
