I have a theory that women who leave or die before a man is allowed to grow weary of them become elevated to a lofty pedestal and are held in the highest esteem by the guys they leave behind.
It’s mostly illusion, an idea of what could have been; like some unfulfilled promise of destiny that was thwarted before it had a chance to grow, conjured up in the overactive imagination of a spurned or deserted man in the throes of the fairy dust infatuation period where nothing or no one can tell them any differently. (the misuse of punctuation in that sentence actually blinded me temporarily)
How do I come up with theories like this?
Through repeated late night viewings of Showtimes “The Tudors”, that’s where.
We taught her more about human nature and the monarchy than 12 years of school!
I am now absolutely certain that if Anne Boleyn had died in childbirth giving Henry his male heir (like her successor Jane Seymour) instead of being revealed as the manipulative, backstabbing, nagging attention whore she really was, she would have been remembered as his “favorite wife”.
Let that be a lesson to you ladies – spit out boys and die young because that is what they like.
You know how it is. You meet someone who blows you back on your heels and he feels equally smitten.
There are the hours of doe eyed looks and powerful feelings and then one day life begins to intrude on the dream and everyday wear and tear begins to chip away at the rose-colored facade.
You look up years later and you think to yourself that five days alone at a spa sounds positively resplendent, whereas during your volcanic courtship the only way to express your extreme displeasure at having been parted for so long would have been to cut out your own heart with a jagged knife and mail it in an organ donor box to your beloved.
You would’ve signed it in blood of course.
Anyway, usually this endorphin soaked obsession is replaced by feelings that are considered more meaningful and long-lasting ; maybe even true love.
On the other hand, sometimes it’s just shoved aside in favor of bitter resentment,unfulfilled dreams and raging disappointment.
I’m sure there are days my husband looks up at me running around in my flannel pajamas and wonders why I seemed so good in theory but turned out not to be very practical for every day use.
We all have thoughts like that occasionally, but now thanks to Showtime’s retelling of Henry the VIII’s long and volatile love life and we all have a better understanding of why.
While it would be impractical to destroy, exile or behead those of whom we have grown tired, it still makes us root for the long-suffering underdog (I’m looking at YOU Catherine of Aragon!) and gives you hope that the long haulers have way more to show for their efforts than the fast and furious short-lived exploits of the long gone.
What would I do without cable shows?
For a take on The Tudors from someone with a far better grasp on history go here.
I liked his picture the best.
