i think i puked in my mouth a lil bit.

I'll be the first to admit it. I'm a sucker for romance. I love watching movies where the obnoxious-but-really-cute guy realizes that the girl of his dreams was right in front of him the entire time and tells her "You're my exception". I love reading romance novels disguised as young adult books where the not-of-this-world hero saves the super annoying clumsy heroine from the bad guys and tells her "I can't live in a world where you don't exist". I love listening to mushy love songs that say "I raise my hand as if to show you that I was yours. That I was so yours for the taking. I'm so yours for the taking." I love hearing sweet stories like how this guy devised this elaborate plan to propose to his girlfriend and pulled it off so perfectly it made me cry, or how this guy rolled up 150 bays of hay to spell out "Will you marry me?", or how this guy proposed at 35,000 feet in the sky. I'd like to believe that this will happen to me, too. I need to believe that destiny is real. I need to know that the love of my life is on his way to me this very minute, and that he's trying to get to me as fast as he can. That somewhere someday, my prince will ride up on a white horse (or a black SUV) and whisk me off into the sunset. And that we'll live happily ever after.

In the meantime, however, I'll continue to sit on my bed every night while snickering at the ever-increasing number of corny commercials that magically appear on my TV screen every February (yes, I'm looking at you, you stupid Zales commercial). I'll continue to roll my eyes at these commercials, shake my fist at the injustice of being single on Valentine's, and puke in my mouth a little bit from lovey-dovey overdose. And then I'll continue to peruse the internet for other ridiculously sappy engagement stories that I wish were my own to tell.

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