I don’t know if any of you have watch the movie He’s Just Not That Into You, but it’s my go-to movie for those nights when I’m feeling particularly low–and reaching for some Ben & Jerry’s. (He’s Just Not That Into You is bested only by Pride & Prejudice–but you all knew that.) This movie has taught me some important lessons about love and friendship, and now I intend to bestow those lessons upon all of you.
He’s Just Not That Into You (for those of you who haven’t seen it) focuses on the life of Gigi, a girl who cannot keep a man to save her life. All her hope is seemingly lost when she meets a handsome stranger while she’s out, essentially stalking her date. The stranger (Alex) says to her the one thingno girl ever wants to hear: he’s just not that into you.
If a guy is into you, he will make it happen, no matter what. Even if you hear a story about a friend who meets a guy who never calls, and then over a year passes, they run into each other at the supermarket, and ended up getting married. Alex explains that Gigi can’t listen to those stories, because those girls are the exception And we have to remember that we aren’t the exception, we’re the rule. As difficult as it is to admit, if a guy is acting like he doesn’t give a shit, then he genuinely doesn’t give a shit.
There’s so much truth in what Alex says. I believe if a guy doesn’t call, then he’s not going to, so we should stop deluding ourselves. I believe cheaters don’t change, and shouldn’t be given a second chance. They deserve some kind of comeuppance, right?
What I don’t agree with is Alex’s discouragement of listening to friend’s of friend’s stories. How else are novels made? How else are we supposed to fantasize about our very own Mr. Darcy? You can’t take away the dream, because then we’re stuck with reality–and no one wants that.
Everyone has heard stories–stories that are so unbelievable that they couldn’t possible have actually happened. Except when we hear those stores from a friend about another friend of a friend. Then we tend to believe them.
This is a first-hand account of a friend’s fated meet-cute that ruined any inclination I had towards American men. I’ve always said I like my men tall and British, but maybe I can settle for sweet and Irish.
My good friend Cassie traveled to Dublin with her mom, brother, and high school friend Maggie. Though still in high school, Cassie’s mom gave the girls free rein to wander the city. Her goal for the trip? What would any sane American girl want to do when visiting Ireland? Kiss an Irishman, obviously.
The two girls stumbled into a local Dublin ice cream shop, and low and behold, two adorable Irish lads working behind the counter. Cassie and Maggie attempted to chat them up, but eventually left discouraged. The Irishmen were just not picking up what the girls were putting down. Fortunately, Cassie is more the “if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” type. (A can-do attitude that’s taking her straight into med school.)
The girls returned the following day. Luck had it that one of the boys was working again that evening. The boy, to be named Aaron, had dark hair, a killer smile, with an Irish accent to melt your knees. Again, the girls chatted him up to seemingly no avail. But this American girl was not easily dissuaded.
“I sure wish we had someone to show us around,” Cassie complained loudly to her companion. This roused Aaron from his slumber. He volunteered his services, in addition to his brother Chris, who was “just down the street.” The girls waited outside until he closed up the shop. The brothers took the girls all around the city, and unfortunately, they arrived back to their hotel not only past curfew, but to a pissed-off mamma.
“Get inside,” hissed Cassie’s mom, a woman who may not seem terrifying, but when she puts on her lawyer-voice, you’d best watch out. The girls scurried back inside, but Cassie darted back towards Aaron, kissed him, and rushed inside after Maggie.
When my friend got to this part of the story, she paused and grinned. “Fireworks. I’ve never experienced anything like it.” I’m over here like, “I can’t even get sparklers, but okay.”
Of course, there were repercussions for missing curfew. Her mom grounded her to the hotel, but Maggie was free to leave. Cassie scribbled her Facebook and email information on a note and had Maggie deliver it to Aaron. She still has the first message Aaron ever sent her saved on her phone. Now that is how Cassie told me they met. (Personally, I was much more eager to hear about it from Aaron.)
Aaron’s side of the story starts before Cassie or Maggie even entered the ice cream shop. He saw the two girls walking along the opposite side of the street, tapped his mate, and pointed towards the little blonde (Cassie) and told him, “Tha’ right there is me ideal gurl.” (Imagine a delicious Irish accent as you read that.)
What are the odds of this relationship lasting beyond Cassie’s trip? Slim. Where are they now? Still dating. He moved to Boston to work for his dad, and she’s living in St. Paul, but the distance is much more doable within the States than intercontinental ever was. (I swear, Aaron sees her more than I do.)
It’s these stories, the exceptions, that force me to believe in love, to believe in finding my Mr. Darcy. Cassie found hers, after all. Why can’t I? Their relationship gives me hope. Hope that I too will one day share a cup of coffee with a man so unordinary that I finally throw in the towel, accepting reality as better than fantasy.
Until that much anticipated cup of coffee brews, you can find me indulging in yet another screening of Pride & Prejudice (the Matthew Macfadyen version), because right now, my Mr. Darcy fantasy looks a hell of a lot better than my reality.