Dear, Anna Kendrick.
Between you and me, I think my girlfriend may be sick of hearing me talk about you. (She is also sick of me talking about Gold Rush: Alaska, but those true American pioneers are risking their life’s savings on the possibility of providing for their families with what they find in their sluice boxes!)
This began, innocently enough, when she interrupted my Seinfeld re-run watching to try to get me to partake in a film where college students sing at seemingly random times. I went along, mostly because it was the episode of Seinfeld where Elaine was dating the old guy and George was moving cars on the street and, I think we can all agree, Anna Kendrick, that it is the worst one.
She hit “play” and I was pleasantly surprised to see you on screen.
“Hey! It’s the chick from the movie with Clooney… about planes and stuff.”
At first, she was excited that I was excited. We spooned. We laughed. She sang. I hummed. I said things like:
“Man, she’s pretty!”
“Isn’t her voice wonderful?”
“Do you think her tears of joy can cure psoriasis?”
And out of nowhere, my girlfriend got cranky.
SHE TALKED ME INTO WATCHING PITCH PERFECT IN THE FIRST PLACE!
I will admit that sometimes men are an imperfect lot. I worry that women are expecting too much from a gender that invented, and continues to use as a rite of passage, a game called “bag tag.” But, listen, lovely and beguiling actress-singer Anna Kendrick, I know women. I have one as a mother AND one as a sister. I watched three or four minutes of HBO’S Girls once. And I don’t like to brag, but I’ve had at least eight girlfriends. So, you know, come on.
She threatened to break up with me. I replied that she would miss me when I’m gone. When I’m goooo-oooo-ooone. She’s going to miss me when I’m gone.
She missed me alright… with her shoe.
So maybe I occasionally mention that your hair looks like a unicorn’s mane. Or that your eyes are reminiscent of the colour of Super Mario’s overalls. Or that your smile probably caused the melting of the polar ice caps.
Is that so wrong? Doesn’t everyone say those things about you?
I can talk about other stuff, you know. Just the other day, I spent a full forty-five minutes telling her all about the Chinese Space Agency and how their lunar probes are named Chang’e after the moon goddess. Do you think she retained that information? Nope. She was “too busy working” and “planning for our future.”
Selfish? Maybe. But my girlfriend is otherwise absolutely wonderful. While she can’t do anything fun with a flat surface and some cups, she has nose freckles, a dimple, and can rock a ponytail like nobody’s business.
Still she is not overly pleased that I mention you so frequently. I think it is largely due to media-fueled insecurities and the internet. It could also be her mother’s fault.
Though, perhaps it is possible, that she was a teensy bit miffed by my response to her query as to what I would say to you if I actually met you in person.