Who decided kissing in the rain was the only way to convey a sense of desperate passion? (Because I convey this quite well in any weather with a little bit of vodka.) After some experimentation, I’m still not getting it. Am I doing it entirely wrong or is it all just a big scam to sell media?
I’ve watched the Ryan Gosling-Rachel McAdams Notebook scene a hundred times, and I must admit, I am intrigued. But what is it about this scene that makes it so perfect? Is it what he says leading up to their dramatic make-out? Is it the way he forcefully grabs her? Is it just him? What about when Spiderman and Mary Jane kiss in the rain upside-down? What the hell am I supposed to think of that?
Kissing someone in the rain is never as well executed as it is in the movies. I think the characters in the movies kiss in the rain like they have no idea that kissing in the rain is romantic. When it’s happened to me, neither of us were running out of an apartment or bar onto a water-soaked street shouting something like, “You were the best thing that ever happened to me!” or “It still isn’t over!” I never jumped into their arms like I’d never see them again or thought for a second that chasing them into the rain would be a good idea. (It can’t rain forever, right? You go ahead, I’ll be along in a bit.)
I’m always very aware that it’s raining. When I see rain, and I’m with a significant other, I usually say, “Hey! I melt in the rain. Let’s stay inside” not “I think I’d rather kiss you right now than take out my umbrella because that is what this moment really needs.” Occasionally I try to replicate some sort of romantic scene I saw in a chick flick, but I’m always missing something, like mood music or the ability to take myself seriously or a hunky guy that never ever farts.
Speaking of music, my girl Taylor Swift can’t seem to get enough of kissing in the rain. I’m starting to believe she’s never actually done it because you know what happens to me when I kiss in the rain? I get wet. (And my clothes do, too.) I also get cold and angry, and my matted down hair makes me look like a rat; I can’t pretend to feel sexy while my mascara runs down my cheeks because I imagine I look something like Hatchet-face in Cry Baby.
When I’m cold and wet, I crave beer cheese soup and a down comforter, not a climax to the evening. Sure, we can go back to my place and take off our clothes, but know that I’m trembling from hypothermia, not your touch.