I know all about your white horse. It has skin cancer. And your shining armor? Aluminum foil covered cardboard. But I guess it’s not your fault we girls were raised all wrong—Hollywood showing us these kind, handsome, charming men, raising a bar none of you could ever reach. Perhaps the Grimm brothers were very ugly, and thought their future ugly great-grandchildren or so deserved an equal chance, so they wrote all these lovely stories about the men no one could ever be. Daddy told his princess she deserved the best, so she either waits around wrinkling her face for it, or gives in to disappointment. Stephenie Meyer sold-out for Michael Myers’ mask, creating a real-life horror for gullible girls searching for their dreamy Cullen, or maybe just Robert Pattinson. Dear P.C., the truth is, you just aren’t a Mac, and we females are waiting for an upgrade. It’s not really your fault we’re Queen Daydreamers, but you’re not making the cut—I’d suggest La Mer, but we don’t want to make you metrosexual. I’d suggest etiquette classes, but nice guys finish last. I’d suggest enrolling in high level college courses to improve your intelligence, but…actually that wouldn’t hurt. The truth is, you aren’t Heath Ledger, and who cares if he’s dead? You will never be Mr. Darcy. You might be good-looking, you may be rich. You might own a sense of humor, you may be a gentleman. But you’ll never be all these things, and you can’t steal a breath away, or make a heart beat faster. When you play the guitar, you aren’t the rockstar on the radio. Your love poems mean nothing if they aren’t published. You’re too hot, or too cold, and never just right. If you say you’re Marlon Brando, you’re the one from Apocalypse Now. Unless you have your name engraved in a book or movie credits—do you really think we know who you are? We’re too busy pretending, being amazed by magazine faces. Drooling over biography Q&A’s of people we’ll never meet. Don’t you realize, you’re supposed to be like them? Baby boy, don’t you get it? You’re no masked avenger, you’re a great pretender. You aren’t a hero, and you can’t save the day, or a di(stressing-you-out) damsel at that. The doctor just prescribed you ten chick flicks a week to boost your self-esteem and chances. Sorry fellas, you’re the reason Katy Perry really hoped you didn’t mind it. You just aren’t what you’re supposed to be. And maybe you just should’ve pushed for the 19th Amendment a little sooner.
Sincerely,
Concerned, Fair Maiden
P.S.: Get smarter jokes.
