Excuse me a moment, while I slip on a pair of Jimmy Choos and channel my inner Carrie.

At the tender age of 23, I have admittedly idealistic notions of romance. Forged by a steady diet of Disney princesses and later solidified by several versions of Katherine Heigl, I find myself expecting much more from guys than I have ever witnessed in real life—in my own experiences or those of girlfriends. The fact that I recognize that my expectiations may be a little conjectured does little to negate the wish to be a female lead in the fastidiously screen tested rom-com.

 

Liar!!

 

Perhaps I do not inspire grand gestures of affection. Maybe I fuck uncreative guys. It is also possible that in my clumsy, post-collegiate efforts ferreting through the dating pool, I’ve been greedily seeking demonstrations of endearment that most people classify only as fiction.

But every once in a while, Good Morning America has to do a piece on that minute percentage of the guy population that proves this notion comes not solely from the minds of dreamers. Subsequently, it reignites the hope in all us girls that we can find a guy just like that, or, at least, turn our current man into one.

It’s similar to the bodega that puts up a “We sold a $2 million lottery ticket here!” sign in the window. Logically, you know your chances of buying a similar ticket are still no greater, but the mere sight of evidence that someone beat the overwhelming odds amplifies that little voice in the back of your head whispering “maybe.”

An example: Boy sees girl on the subway, falls head-over-heels. She gets off before he musters the courage to talk to her. Boy, a graphic designer, goes home and puts up a webpage: http://www.nygirlofmydreams.com/

Within 48 hours, in a city of eight million people, he finds her. And they’re damn adorable together.

They do the press junket that naturally evolves from extraordinary stories like this, and quietly bow out of the spotlight. “You’ll have to make up your own ending for this,” he explains on the site. (You can find the ending of this story with a little research, but I won’t ruin it for you here.)

Sigh.

Do not misunderstand my point. I am not commenting on the personalities, physical attractiveness, or overall wonderful qualities of the men I have kept company with. Generally, I am quite happy with my choices thus far. And it may not be fair to compare them to cartoon princes and the careful casting choices of Hollywood directors.

So even though I know my notions are fortified by years of false and/or glamorized images of romance, am I foolish to still hold out hope for a little…magic?

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