Real Romance

by Lisa Kogan
I am a sensible woman. I keep Bactine in my medicine chest, an umbrella in my office, $200 in my sock drawer. I'd sooner remove my own spleen with a grapefruit spoon than buy a set of sheets that require ironing. I believe in practical shoes, low-maintenance hair, and whichever frozen peas happen to be on sale. I'm not entirely sure what a bodice is, but I can tell you that I don't want mine ripped. Still, I can't help feeling that there's something to be said for moons and Junes and Ferris wheels. I believe in the power of marabou, the brothers Gershwin, bubble baths in claw-footed tubs surrounded by a bazillion twinkly white candles. I believe in strawberries coated in dark chocolate and raspberries floating in pink Champagne. I'm glad Victoria has a few secrets. I think fireplaces should be lit, compliments should be paid, La Bohème should be sung, legs should be shaved. I want Lassie to come home, I want Ali MacGraw to live, and I want Gene Kelly to dip Cyd Charisse straight into next Thursday. I'm not proud of this, but in the interest of full disclosure, here it is: I am deeply relieved when Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan finally kiss. My name is Lisa, and I am a romantic.

The truth is that I fell for someone who prefers a blue toilet bowl to, oh, I don't know, let's say Wuthering Heights. Here is the worst—and by far the stupidest—fight Johannes and I ever had:

J: What are you reading about?
L: Ida and Isidor Straus. They were an amazing couple! Instead of getting into the lifeboat, she decided to die with her husband on the Titanic. Of course, if Julia were grown, I'd do the same for you.
J: What do you mean?
L: What do you mean, what do I mean?
J: You're not getting in the lifeboat?
L: No, I love you too much to let you drown all by yourself.
J: But I won't be by myself—I think they were playing poker and getting drunk.
L: So you're saying that you'd rather play poker with John Jacob Astor than cuddle with me?
J: That's not what I'd be doing, because if you're not getting your ass into that lifeboat, then I am. We are not leaving an empty seat.
L: Oh, you're getting into that boat over my dead body.
J: Where the hell is the Tylenol?
L: Try the bathroom…you know, the place with the ocean blue toilet water.
J: You mean like the ocean you want both of us to sink to the bottom of?

Things kind of spiraled downward from there, and I still break into a cold sweat every time Celine Dion starts wailing about how her heart will go on.