when harry met sally
My very best friend from the seventh grade has imposed one rule upon me: when I meet someone for the first time (particularly a male) I am forbidden from inviting them over my house for dinner. I am also strongly discouraged from inviting them over for dinner, ever, period. Unfortunately, I enjoy inviting people over for dinner. This tactic is how I have come to have so many friends. It is also how many of these so called friends have come to think that we have Potential. Which is why I am going to add my own rule: annual viewings of the 1980’s film, When Harry Met Sally.
The premise of When Harry Met Sally is that men and women can’t be friends. I have been trying to prove that theory wrong since the age of seventeen.
Which brings me to the resason for my annual viewing. The reason would be called Stevephildantom, and some Frenchman who’s name I believe was Virgil. The biggest reason for this, however, would be Tom. Tom and I just broke up. The only problem is that I never actually dated him. I think it would be more accurate to say he broke up with me. Or rather, he broke up with the fantasy, and I had to be the real flesh and blood recipient of the denunciation of his day dreams. I’m trying to be sensitive to his feelings, but when he wrote, “We should severly reduce our amount of communication,” what I really want to say in reply is, “I think about ninety percent of that communication is going on inside your head.” Except I won’t have the opportunity, because he just blocked me on Skype.
It all started with a letter. Or rather, my idea to write letters, which is something else I am putting on the list of banned activities. Then came The Letter. I would like to call it a love letter, except it was not. It was more a, “I hope that this can be taken as a love letter if indeed you do feel the same way about me,” sort of thing. Yet it was so matter of fact, citing our obvious “geographical differences” so many times that I became confused as to whether or not I was reading an academic dissertation.
This letter left me in the awkward position where I had to respond. Which was how I found myself typing into Google, “How to respond to a love letter when you are not interested.” Google apparently does not have much experience with this search query, because Google seriously let me down. The first site to which I was directed, Help.com, was no help at all. The other top site was leading with, “Girls, how do you respond to love letters?” I’m looking for answers here, Google, not more questions. And after those two measly offerings was, “How to write an unforgettable romantic love letter.” At this point I became willing to accept that the problem was me, not Google, and so adjusted the terms of my search to, “How to tell a guy you are not interested.” Lemondrop.com suggested using a fire escape to remove onesself from unpleasant situations with the opposite sex. After being led to an infomerical for a man who was going to tell me the secrets of the male mind (for a nominal fee) I realized that I would be flying solo.
In the meantime, I’ll try to remember that (SPOILER ALERT) eventually Harry ends up with Sally.