RIP pants (that's a pun too)
Because I know all of you read my journal for updates on the state of my fashion-forward wardrobe, this was going to be a post about the untimely demise of my favourite pants. The green cargoes--the pants I library in, the pants I fly in, the pants I pull on on those work-at-home days when I need to go to the store for chips because I still can't bring myself to buy chips in my jim-jams--those green cargoes, the go-to pants. From the moment I tried them on at the mall, I knew they were coming home with me. I even considered buying another pair, exactly the same, in an effort to extend what I knew was going to be a long and happy relationship beyond its natural life. With its twin. Regrets, I've had a few, green pants.
But then I watched Pretty in Pink. I remember loving this movie. I remember loving Molly Ringwald's clothes (except for that prom dress--seriously, Andy's witty 80's fashion sense had to culminate in that?), I remember loving her car, I remember loving her room, but most of all, I remember loving Blaine. Andrew McCarthy as Blaine, the quiet, nervous Blaine who obviously had hidden depths. Dreamboat.
So imagine my ire when I realised, as I watched with increasing horror, that Blaine is a complete arse. HE ducked her calls all weekend, HE reneged on his prom invitation with the transparent and insulting excuse that he had already invited someone else and FORGOT, HE chose his two-dimensionally evil rich friends over her (by the way, James Spader is delicious in this movie) and HE accuses HER, when she shows up at the prom anyway in that unfortunate monstrosity of pink satin, he accuses her of not believing in HIM?!? Oh my god, Blaine. It's like a teenage version of All's Well that Ends Well, you know, without the bed trick or the witty repartee. And I know I'm supposed to want Andy to end up with the loyal Duckie (notably a good kisser) but really I wish she had just slept with Stef, surprising him with her skill and creativity, and then driven off to design school in her pink car leaving him wanting more. (I may have watched too much Sex and the City since high school.)
But it's Andrew McCarthy whom I really regret. I'm going to have to watch St. Elmo's Fire again, aren't I? I'm afraid of what I might find.
I miss my pants.
UPDATE: I hear in the original ending Andy ends up with Duckie. I'm not sure I'm on board with this either. When I was a teenager, I wouldn't have chosen Duckie over Blaine and, apparently, Molly Ringwald felt the same way and so the ending was changed. Obviously I would have picked the handsome arse over the adoring nerd and, in fact, I still do when the Blaines cast their eyes (their blue, blue eyes) my way. Usually to my detriment. So I'm still a teenager. Great.
I wish I still had my green pants.
But then I watched Pretty in Pink. I remember loving this movie. I remember loving Molly Ringwald's clothes (except for that prom dress--seriously, Andy's witty 80's fashion sense had to culminate in that?), I remember loving her car, I remember loving her room, but most of all, I remember loving Blaine. Andrew McCarthy as Blaine, the quiet, nervous Blaine who obviously had hidden depths. Dreamboat.
So imagine my ire when I realised, as I watched with increasing horror, that Blaine is a complete arse. HE ducked her calls all weekend, HE reneged on his prom invitation with the transparent and insulting excuse that he had already invited someone else and FORGOT, HE chose his two-dimensionally evil rich friends over her (by the way, James Spader is delicious in this movie) and HE accuses HER, when she shows up at the prom anyway in that unfortunate monstrosity of pink satin, he accuses her of not believing in HIM?!? Oh my god, Blaine. It's like a teenage version of All's Well that Ends Well, you know, without the bed trick or the witty repartee. And I know I'm supposed to want Andy to end up with the loyal Duckie (notably a good kisser) but really I wish she had just slept with Stef, surprising him with her skill and creativity, and then driven off to design school in her pink car leaving him wanting more. (I may have watched too much Sex and the City since high school.)
But it's Andrew McCarthy whom I really regret. I'm going to have to watch St. Elmo's Fire again, aren't I? I'm afraid of what I might find.
I miss my pants.
UPDATE: I hear in the original ending Andy ends up with Duckie. I'm not sure I'm on board with this either. When I was a teenager, I wouldn't have chosen Duckie over Blaine and, apparently, Molly Ringwald felt the same way and so the ending was changed. Obviously I would have picked the handsome arse over the adoring nerd and, in fact, I still do when the Blaines cast their eyes (their blue, blue eyes) my way. Usually to my detriment. So I'm still a teenager. Great.
I wish I still had my green pants.