I never used to consider myself particularly sentimental. My pragmatic sarcastic side was usually dominant. But sometime around 5 years ago something changed and now without notice, I find myself reduced to a weepy undignified heap on an uncomfortably regular basis.
Films like The Notebook, or An Affair to Remember are lethal. Oh and don’t even get me started on my behaviour during a climactic scene of Grey’s Anatomy Season 2 “I know you’ll be fine…but Denny, what about meeeeeeee?”- wrenching stuff.
I once fled the room shrieking (I’m not kidding) during a Walt Disney movie about a yellow Labrador who fell off a bridge trying to protect his young master (the dog was fine and swam to safety, my bemused husband later informed me).
But nothing quite compares to last night’s mortification. I was aimlessly flicking the television remote control whilst waiting for my toenail polish to dry and happened upon the schmaltzy classic ‘Love Story’. It was the definitive scene. With the music at a crescendo, a dying Jennifer bravely tells her young husband “it doesn’t hurt Ollie, really it doesn’t”. My eyes welled. By the time she called him “her god&!#@ stupid preppie” (a timeless line if ever spoken) and gracefully slipped off into that good night, I was into unprecedented full body convulsions.
I guess motherhood did this to me (damn hormones). I didn’t see it coming but I have to admit “my name is Cxxxxxxx and I am a schmaltz junkie”.