Dear Hollywood

Dear Hollywood,
I hate you.  You ruin everything. 
Love,
Renee.

Ok, so that's unfair.  It really isn't Hollywood's fault.  No, it's all of us who have, even for the tiniest of moments, believed that something from a movie could happen to us.  I am a realist and I normally don't believe in this fluff, but I found one moment that I so desperately wanted to have and I blame the big screen.

As I said, I'm pretty level-headed.  I had learned to accept the fact that no guy in a trench coat would stand out my bedroom window and hold a boom box playing "In Your Eyes" over his head no matter how much he loved me.  I learned to accept the fact that my hair did not form exactly into two cinnamon-bun shaped rolls on either side of my head and the fact that I would never look good in a metallic bikini even if I was chained to a giant fat blob.  I had even learned to accept that I would never have a vampire and a werewolf fight over my hand in marriage.  But despite all of that, I still held out hope that I would get my "Honey? It's time!" moment.

The "Honey? It's time!" moment is the one you see in every film that features a pregnant lady.  In comedies it usually happens when the woman's water breaks at the most inopportune and embarrassing time.  In dramas we see a baby go into distress and hold our breaths as we wait for the doctor to emerge from surgery to tell the family the baby is ok.  No matter how you slice it, that moment is always there.

Now I want that moment.  I gave up on dreams to be Catwoman, to rescue someone from a burning building, to be swept off my feet by a real-life  millionaire prince so I don't think I'm asking for too much here.

Afterall, everyone deserves to feel like a movie star for one moment, right?