Love is the Pitts

MY friend sent me a text the other day simply saying ‘Brad and Jen — There’s no hope for any of us now’.
She was of course talking about Brad Pitt and his wife Jennifer Aniston whose formal separation was announced on the 11 o’clock news between tsunami death tolls and murder suspect updates. I would like to officially state, contrary to rumours circulating, I had nothing to do with the split.
Apparently, the reason for the break-up is Brad wants kids and Jennifer wants a career. As far as Jen and I are concerned, that’s where our similarities fork — my dream career would be having Brad Pitt’s babies.
He stated in a recent interview that he could never say his marriage would last forever, saying: “I'm not sure if it really is in our nature to be with someone for the rest of our lives”.
You’ve hit it right on the head there, Brad. I have been carrying about a keyring for the last few years which says: ‘Waiting for the right man. Meanwhile having fun with the wrong ones’. I think I can safely say I’ve followed that piece of advice to the letter.
My air hostess friend also uses this as her mantra, although where I get the occasional text or phonecall from ‘the wrong ones’, she gets holidays in Budapest and state-of-the-art DVD players. I’m obviously not getting it ‘wrong’ enough.
Things are still going well with the new ‘boyfriend’. I wonder how far in it gets easier to say that word? I suppose until it progresses to ‘fiance’ which is even worse. No, I’m not getting any ideas — just stating a fact.
I totally freaked him out by telling him about a dream I had when he gave me an amethyst engagement ring.
Once he’d come down from the ceiling, he simply turned to me and said: “Anyway, it wouldn’t be an amethyst — it would be a diamond”. Moosh!
Then the other night, as I left him and his friends playing poker (which I was seriously failing at) I discovered he’d rigged up a stereo in the bedroom because he knows I can’t sleep in silence. Moosh!
I don’t do conventional relationships very well, as those of you who read my tales regularly can appreciate, but I’m a lot more comfortable with these signs of affection from him, probably because I believe him; that they’re not just cheesy lines to keep me ticking over.
Psychotherapist and author Phillip Hodson (you’d know him to see him) says that focusing upon long-term compatibility when looking for your ideal partner, rather than always worrying about being single, is the only way to guarantee long-lasting romantic success.
“Solitude is as good for the soul as socialising,” he says. “Stop looking for ‘the one’, focus on what is happening in your life right now and be happy with yourself”.
My friend stopped looking for ‘the one’ only to find ‘the one who got away’ keeps reappearing in her life. And his timing couldn’t be any worse.
Their relationship definitely does have a ‘When Harry met Sally’ formula. Just when she’s single and ready, he’s not, and vice versa.
Only this time it’s she who is enjoying another fine romance, and he, left heartbroken by yet another girl who is not her, is being left to wait to see how it pans out. Knowing him, he’s not the type to save himself for her, so guaranteed, if and when her current relationship ends, he will be taken in some form or another.
Here’s her dilemma: She knows her current squeeze is not ‘the one’, just like Brad knew Jennifer wasn’t and Carrie knew Aidan wasn’t, and that it’s never going to last forever. She really loves him but just not as much as ‘the one’. Just like Carrie loved Big.
The sensible side of me tells her to concentrate on what she has just now and see how it goes, but the romantic in me says to follow her heart, even if it means breaking someone else’s. What would you do?
And what would Elvis do? I’m addicted to watching his films since receiving a gigantic box set from Mama Claus.
If only life was as simple as in Viva Las Vegas. Granted she had very little on, but Rusty Martin merely had to dance up to Lucky Jackson, and that was it — love at first sight. Mind you I defy anyone dancing with Elvis not to fall in love with him.
Plus, they only had 85 minutes to fall in love, have a major fight and then make up, whilst packing in a vague storyline, colourful dance numbers and ten or so songs. If only real life love could have a time limit.
Maybe my friend should set a date whereby if her ‘one’ hadn’t whisked her off her feet, she could just forget about him. Easier said than done — maybe she’d have more luck applying to be Brad’s baby-maker.