If you believe chick flicks, I’m supposed to loathe being single on Valentine’s Day. In chick flick world, I’d just lock myself in my bedroom singing Alanis Morissette songs off-key and slamming back pints of Häagen-Dazs.
True, all the red roses and candy boxes can make single gals wistful around V-Day, and unfortunately the industry doesn’t do much to make us feel less crappy. But this year, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve. I’ve got The Secret.
Initially skeptical, I decided to give the idea a whirl after my friend Paula got a check in the mail for $368 at a time when she owed a creditor…$368. Paula attributed her success to the Law of Attraction.
The rules are simple: Ask, nay, demand from the universe what you want and think relentlessly positive thoughts to manifest your orders. Shoot high, the book insists, nothing is out of reach. I figure my chances are even better if I put my demands in writing, so here goes.
I command you to make the following happen on Valentine’s Day 2009:
George Clooney picks me up around eight. He takes me to one of those restaurants where you can buy a $40,000 bottle of champagne, just so I can see how the other half lives. During dinner, George is bowled over by my dazzling wit as we talk film, culture and politics. As I explain my views on world cinema and ending global poverty, he stares longingly into my eyes then whispers, “from whence have you come, goddess? Never have I felt so connected to another person. We two are one.”
After dinner, George and I go to a