“I find it totally weird that guys don’t ever get love stories,” Kelly says confidently, laying out on and stretching a little. One of his feet was up on top of the furniture, and the other was criss-cross style right in front of him, his own heel practically tapping against his butt. Because sitting normally was for lame people.
“Think about it.” Kelly’s hands were floating above him, in that ‘okay’ symbol that meant he was gonna say something to blow your mind. “Most romantic movies have a guy in them, but like, the guy isn’t the love story. The love story is for the girl. The girl is wooed by the guy. Or the girl is saved from a bad situation by this guy. Or the girl is taught how to love herself by this guy. She fins the love of her life through a magic mailbox. Love stories are all geared towards helping girls feel like they are lovable. Guys never get that. We are, at best, a prop in a female love story.” He paused to grab his cup of coffee, sipping from it, “Even gay movies, as few of them as there are, rarely present a love story as a man getting his love story. It’s always two young boys. Teenagers discovering they are gay. High school. If there are men in a gay film, the ending is always unhappy. One of them dies, or gets AIDs, or chooses to stay with their wife, or some shit.”
Kelly rested his case there, a little, ‘Yea, don’t you think?’ look on his face, directed at the other human in the room.
