The Femme (Fat)ale
I used to have such a giant crush on Jessica Rabbit. I mean who wouldn’t? Of course mine bordered on a deep psychosis and Red Headed Femme Fatales (plural very much intended) turned into a serious Achilles heel for me, albeit many years later.
I’m reaching for some sort of determining factor as to why I would have dated so many crimson follicled antonyms of my gender… but reducing it to some sort of obsession with an impossibly proportioned over sexualized cartoon character seems… possible.
In any event I feel quite cheerful (even smug) now having dodged that particular bullet… while poor Roger has, despite his fame and fortune, (although some might argue he was a one hit wonder) clearly mucked up his life. This is all very much in the realm of Schadenfreude for me.
And while I appreciate that looks won’t last forever… Jessica’s vapid personality is likely not helping to tick a lot of self fulfillment boxes. Although maybe she is the victim in all of this. I tend to view these situations through my very narrow patriarchal and misogynistic lenses. After all it’s perfectly acceptable for the guy to slide (physically and mentally) after nuptials… but woe if your spouse were to had a few extra kilos around her midsection or cut her hair short. Roger should have preempted all of this and bought her a treadmill… or a peloton (thats the modern day equivalent now right?)
This picture made me smile. Before I started thinking about it too much.
If you’re wondering if I congratulated myself on a clever title for this post the answer is yes. It will likely sustain my good mood for… at least the next hour.