Power Ballads are for co-dependents

My guilty pleasure is false nails.  Yup, I love ‘em.  I love the elegance, the colours,  and I love an hour to myself once a month to play ladies.

I was in my favourite nail spa recently, watching the awesome old 80’s videos on a continual MTV loop, listening to Richard Marx pining his unrequited love, late at night alone in a hotel, in a colour-less, black and white montage, faithfully promising that he will be right here waiting for her.

I wonder now if Richard Marx is still right there waiting for her or did he move on and get a life?  Is Cher still wanting to turn back time or has she realised that she should live in the present moment?  Does Foreigner even know what love is yet?

And right there in the nail salon, it dawned on me.  

Power Ballads are for Codependents.  

I spent my teens watching Richard Marx, and crazily obsessing over some poor unwitting object of my codependent obsession.

I went into my 20's with Bridget Jones, watching movie re-runs in my pyjamas, singing by myself into my wine glass.  Fortified by a good drop of red, I believed that I could wish and hope and pray Colin Firth into my very own living room.

Of course by my thirties, I was getting more up close and personal with the likes of Dr Phil and Oprah.  I was realising I was possibly, slightly, maybe more than a little broken.



I’ve grown up now though.  I’ve read more than a few spiritual and self-help books, so I think I'd like to spent my 40's working on a mature, mutually respectful, communicative and honest relationship.
  
Disney.  You and me.  We need to talk.  

Signed, the ever-loving and the ever-learning,

Brish.

xo