The Grass Is Always Greener. Usually Because It’s Fiction

There I was again. On the couch. Glass of wine in hand. Watching another episode of romance that makes real life look like a condom wrapper on the floor. You know something happened here once, but the excitement is long gone.

You know the feeling. That moment when two characters look at each other and suddenly the room is full of tension, chemistry, lust, longing and possibly a broken bed frame.

And I’m sitting there with a semi-boner thinking. Am I boring? Is my relationship in a slump? Why isn’t my life like Shane and Ilya from Heated Rivalry?

Where is the tension? The eye contact…the dramatic “I shouldn’t want you but I absolutely do” energy?

Meanwhile in my living room my boyfriend is asking if we still have dishwasher tablets and the dog is licking his own ass just showing off. Very sexy

The Fantasy Problem

Fiction is dangerous. Not in a “hide the children” way. In a “this sets unrealistic expectations for your boring Tuesday night” way.

Because in fiction everything is intense. Every look means something. Every touch is electric. Every argument ends with aggressive bang against a wall.

Real life relationships?

Real life is someone asking if you took out the trash. Real life is deciding what to watch on Netflix for forty minutes before giving up and scrolling your phone. Real life is arguing about who finished the last bag of chips (spoiler: it is always me).

No one I know walks into a room with the sexual confidence of Ilya. No one stares at their partner like Shane does when he realizes he’s in love. Most couples I know look like two people who are still together mostly because separating the furniture feels like too much of a hassle.

The Comparison Trap

And yet somehow we still compare. We compare our relationships to fictional couples. To influencers. To that annoying couple who always posts kissing photos on Instagram knowing very well that they are trying to convince us that their sex-life didn’t die three years earlier.

We start thinking maybe we are missing something. Maybe our love is not passionate enough. Maybe we are not adventurous enough. Maybe our sex life needs… a plot twist.

Then reality hits.

Those fictional couples exist because someone wrote them that way. A team of writers literally sat in a room thinking “how can we make this hotter.” Meanwhile in real life you are both tired and one of you has a headache and the other one is trying to remember if the garbage went out.

So What Do We Do?

Well,  I had a thought. Instead of comparing my relationship to fictional hockey players with perfect abs and zero bills to pay… maybe it is time to try something new.

Role playing. Yes. I know. Stay calm. I said the same thing. It feels slightly outside my comfort zone. I am not exactly the type to show up in leather and start calling someone “daddy.” But maybe that is the point.

If fiction can create excitement, maybe we can steal a little bit of that energy. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to shake things up. Maybe tonight I am the mysterious stranger at the bar. Maybe my boyfriend is the arrogant athlete with a dirty mouth. Maybe we pretend we have never met before and see where the night goes.

Worst case scenario we crack up halfway through and realize we’re not mysterious strangers at all. We are just two idiots in our living room accidentally recreating the awkward role play of Clive Bixby and Juliana from Modern Family.

The Truth

The grass always looks greener somewhere else. In someone else’s relationship, someone else’s story, on someone else’s Instagram feed. But half the time that grass is fake. Plastic. Scripted. Edited. Real love is quieter. Real life is messy. Real love sometimes smells like garlic dinner and wet dog.

And honestly? That is not so bad.

Still… if pretending to be Shane and Ilya for an evening makes things a little more exciting… I am not saying no.

Shitizens, be honest. Do you ever compare your relationship to the ridiculous romance you see in movies and series? Or have you tried something spicy like role playing to keep things interesting? Spill the tea.

Smell ya later,