I was originally saving this movie for my next breakup, but when it happened, it somehow didn’t seem worthy of Sharknado 2, so I decided to wait for the next event that would threaten to shatter my soul. I didn’t have to wait very long; turns out it was the opposite of a breakup that would scoop out my insides, stir them around, and attempt to slap them back in there all mismatched and squishy.
It turns out that even if you repeatedly tell yourself, and others, but mostly yourself, that you’re single simply because you haven’t yet found the right person, and you try not to take it as a personal affront when everyone gets married, and you focus on being the best version of yourself regardless of whether anyone else appreciates it, even if you do all of these things—when your 5-years-younger sister suddenly announces she’s engaged, you will be excited for her for about 6 seconds, and then you will start to cry uncontrollably.
Because now you have to admit that this person who has always been so young, so naïve, so innocent in your eyes, is an adult just like you. Because now you have to face the idea that even though there’s not supposed to be a “normal” timeline for life’s milestones, you’re so far from any conceivable version that you might as well be in another dimension. Because now, despite your best efforts not to let that obscene nagging voice into your brain, you have to ask: What is wrong with me?
You can insist a trillion times that timing, and sheer compatibility, and long-term goals, and shared interests, and other stuff people find important have just been slightly off with everyone you’ve tried to see a future with. But what if there is also something tragically amiss deep down? Why else would every guy you date ask incredulously within the first 2 weeks when they’re still smitten by your charm and before they’ve discovered the unique things that make you challenging, “Why are you single?” Are you secretly turning into a sea witch at midnight during full moons? Are you deliriously firing off hate-fueled manifestos in your sleep that you deliver to only the nicest people in the world? Are you a zombie wearing human makeup? It has to be something so dreadful, right? There must be one obvious thing you can tell people because no funny, intelligent, caring 30 year old woman could possibly be single for the same reason anyone is single.
I guess it’s just–it’s real now. When my older sister got married it was fine. When my friends do it, it’s slightly less so, but it’s not so hard to remind yourself the Facebook/Instragram world is only a ridiculously rosy representation of reality. When my 25 year old sister takes this step I am nowhere near, it drives home the point clearly and vividly that I truly am not only alone but lonely. I’m not as sorrowful about it as I sound–I do enjoy my own company, I do require nights in by myself anyway, and I even do stuff alone, all the time, though I don’t particularly enjoy it like I’m supposed to. None of that lessens the desire for a partner. And I get it, Rolling Stones, I really do–I can’t always get what I want. But I still want it.
Oh yeah, so how was the movie? Not as good as the first one.