Let’s face it. Romance is dead. Lloyd Dobler isn’t going to stand under your window with a boombox. Mark Darcy isn’t going to tell you you’re perfect just the way you are. Johnny isn’t going to pull you out of the corner and tell everyone that he had the time of his life with you. Edward isn’t going to rescue you from a life of prostitution. (This is a tricky one…Pretty Woman falls into a questionable hole.) Harry isn’t going to come find on New Year’s Eve, and admit he loves you BECAUSE of your neurotic flaws. And Noah isn’t going to write you letters every day for four years (even though your bitchy mother might not give them to you). Continue reading →