“I think I’ll call you Juliet.” It was his best pick-up line, which he accentuated by sliding his business card towards the blonde bombshell Hollywood bars were known to attract. Romeo M, the name at the bottom read, his cell phone number strategically scrawled on the back before the start of the night.
The girl’s only response was a cursory glance in his direction, a cockeyed expression painted on her face, and a return to her order. He didn’t dare push the matter; she was out of his league anyway, most likely going back to a table occupied by professional athletes. The thought was comforting.
She walked away and Romeo recycled his business card. He hadn’t paid much for the few he had printed out, but it seemed like such a waste to let the card soak in spilled tequila and imported beer. He turned back to his glass and realized it was empty so he pulled out his wallet to grab some more cash, but only found a week old receipt.
Unable to leave a tip, he slipped out of his chair and crept out of the bar. Outside he spotted the bombshell, drink in hand, approaching a pasty faced youth with wildly tousled hair and eyes like the dead. Romeo was the best lover the world had ever seen and he was doomed to spend the night alone, his left hand the only witness to the quality of his love.
It has recently come to my attention that Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series has done a great dis-service to men around the world. A playful comment made by a co-worker of mine to a Facebook post about the series on a friend’s profile, yielded some interesting response. Particularly in a rebuttal from a third, also unnamed female. The comment, a negative statement made towards the series, sparked a response from this third party whereby she cites the comment as a reason why she no longer likes “normal” boys. This is an atrocity.
For quite some time, it seems the status quo has been for men to impress women through their bravado and lack of manners. In antiquity, particularly the 50′s and 60′s, the greaser’s and bikers were the true bee’s knees. It seems in this day, the status quo is raising it’s standard further and further. No longer will being a warm-blooded homo sapien qualify a man as a suitable mate. At the rate this trend is proceeding in fact, pretty soon being a human being and expecting to get dates will actually be a faux pas.
What I do not understand then, is why would women want to date a creature that could potentially devour them? It’s a shame that I could imagine a woman in this near future wanting to date an Eat-My-Life because Stephanie Meyer’s new book paints them as the ephemeral lover and loyal protector.
The crux of the matter is this, when will the romanticization of mythological monsters cease? Will a wendigo be the next object of young female adoration? Will my children have to compete with demonic cannibals in order to earn the attention of their high school crush?
I sure hope not.
