Never will I ever find a man in my front yard holding a boombox over his head playing my favorite song on repeat. First of all, I don’t have a front yard and second, people my age don’t have the stamina for that sort of thing anymore.
No man will ever sweep me off my feet. No man will ever cross a thousand leagues to tell me he loves me, without hope of reciprocation. No man will ever fight a dragon, or swim through shark infested waters to save me. No man will ever do anything brave or daring or stupidly heroic simply to win my favor.
It’s a little too late for all that, and besides I tend to like the smart/funny types, not the dangerous, daring (dumb) ones.
Romeo and Juliet only works because they were both teenagers with inattentive parents. My parents raised me to be practical and independent. The older I get the more ridiculous that play becomes. But I still love it. It still makes me cry. I turn to it whenever my sensible nature (and my love of comfortable clothing) has once again driven romance away.
Because sometimes… every once in a while… I wish I were young and romantic, and a little less smart. I wish I wasn’t so damned pushy and demanding, always taking what I want instead of letting someone else have the pleasure of offering it to me.
I wish I had been a little more patient… maybe then I could have waited for that knight in shining armor to carry me away instead of stealing the horse, galloping up to the guy and telling him, “Hey, here I am, catch!”