I hate when chick flicks show the female protagonist in the expository portion of the film order the lionshare amount of delivery food as a means to communicate how depressed they are and how they eat to overcompensate for their loneliness. How contrived! You can’t convince me bean poles like Sandra Bulock or Anne Hathaway are utter pigs no matter how much delivery food they order. Those girls are skinnier than African boys pictured on the back of Unicef boxes.
And these women are made out to be such diamonds in the rough. What a bunch of hogwash! They’re like diamonds in the white gold is more like it. Just because they give her a center hair part and a few sunspots on her face and she’s Allison Reynolds all of a fucking sudden. My goodness!
I love it when they try to make them look so dirty by having them run to work because they missed the bus, so they “ingeniously” decide to run to work in their high heels (instead of, I dunno, taking one of the 17,000 fucking taxis zooming by them). And they run into their work and the down-at-the-heels boss is standing by their desk (because high powered executives of ad agencies have nothing better to do than hound their desk job employees about punctuality). And as they coming panting in, the boss sneers, “YOU’RE LATE, MICHAELS” (because those ‘ugly’ women are further denigrated by being christened with male last names).
The thing is: these women don’t get sweaty. They’re so famous and pampered, they’re incapable of sweating anymore. They just develop an overall glossy sheen like a lacrosstitute. (thanks Katie)
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