When I look back at my very favorite stories as a kid, I realize that this is a common theme for me. I didn’t particularly care for Disney princesses (other than that boy-crazy badass, Ariel). Turtles who live in the sewer and fight crime didn’t do it for me. Bears who shoot rainbows out of their stomachs? Pssh, please. If anyone needed me, they could find me parked in front of the TV watching The Princess Bride for the hundred-thousandth time. Or Little Shop of Horrors, or Gremlins, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or The Fifth Element. To this day, if you start a sentence with the word, “Suddenly,” be prepared for me to tune out everything to you say for the next two and a half minutes as I wistfully smile and watch Rick Moranis and Ellen Greene belt out the lyrics to “Suddenly Symour” in a crumbling alleyway in my mind.
Those are the stories that left me completely and utterly satisfied. Tales of young couples in love who have to fight the forces of evil together in order to win their happily ever afters. Sure, they wanted to save the world/defeat Prince Humperdinck/eradicate their town’s nasty vampire/Gremlin/talking plant from outerspace problem, but what they were really fighting for—and what really had me biting my nails to the quick as I sat wide-eyed on my parents’ faux-leather couch—was simply the chance to be together. By the time the final credits rolled, I’d walk away from the TV with a smile on my face, a flutter in my heart, and a karate kick in my step.