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I got thinking this week about gestures. 

Not hand gestures, but those acts that clearly communicate to someone how you feel about them. As women we LONG for the day that someone is standing under our window with a boom-box over their head, or to better equate this to our current era, I would assume the boom-box would be replaced with an iPad with iTunes streaming. We grew up watching Johnny demand that no-body put Baby in the corner, or Andrew McCarthy saying to hell with his swanky posh friends and enjoy the prom with a  hideously dressed Molly Ringwald (let’s be honest folks, the dress was a train wreck). To this day, (and it’s horrible to admit this) when I arrive at the airport after being away, I secretly tear up as I deplane, uneventfully get my luggage,  and uneventfully attempt to find my car.  Sixteen Candles photo: hollywoodmomblog.com

The main reason I feel this sadness is I’m a hopeless romantic,  and I’m always wishing somehow I’ll have that Hollywood moment where “they” just couldn’t wait another moment and here “they” are at the airport to show me how much I mean to “them.”  Just beyond customs there “they” stand and I run and we hug and kiss, not noticing the world passing by. We’re just completely lost in the reunion.  

Because I don’t live in a John Hughes movie, I am pretty sure my above fantasy will never happen, but the moment I give up that fantasy is the moment I get cynical, and that’s a place I never want to go.  

I mean don’t get me wrong, there’s a difference in delusions and expecting  a bar of pilots to break into some Righteous Brothers medley in your honor,  and being someone who believes that when that right cord is strung in your heart, sometimes the only way to express it is to just go balls to the wall and show it. Granted, I think sometimes you can walk a thin line between the grandiose gestures and the creepy, but either degree you still walk away with a great life story to tell.  I once made the sad attempt at picking up an ex-boyfriend at the airport wearing a trench coat and heels.  It made total sense in my head and I was stoked at the “coolness” of the plan, but logistically it was a rather windy night and the law frowns on semi-public nudity which I quickly found out after being issued a $200 fine.  

Yes, when I originally played out this scenario in my mind it didn’t end with me explaining to a cop WHY I didn’t have any ID on me, but I liked the fact that I did it in the first place.  I’m sure he enjoyed it too, but even though that relationship didn’t work out in the long run, I can still look back on that airport shenanigans and appreciate that I brought one hell of a smile to someone I cared about. It’s about time that we can tap into our inner “you complete me” ides and pull out a grand plan that leaves some giddy with flattery.  If you’ve ever had one of these plans in your head, make it a real moment this year, or at least give it a shot. Why not?  What’s the worst that can happen?  The way I see it is your gesture is only a fail if it ultimately ends with the issuing of a restraining order. 

But at least you can say you tried!

Ladies, ever wonder where the phrase "tapped that" originated?  Fella's, ever wonder if girls had slumber parties with nighties and pillow fights?  Yeah, well me too.  The Vagina MonoBlogs takes a proactive but honest point of view on some of these timeless questions and offers some perspectives to apply...or avoid for that matter!

Contact Brandi Conrow at brandi.conrow@hotmail.com 

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