It's not like I haven't started my day with romantic comedy before.
But today the Bowtie was offering up the fluffy Doris Day/Rock Hudson classic, "Pillow Talk."
1959, holy crap, what a different world that was!
Doris had matching gloves and hats and muffs for every ensemble. Even her jewelry got a credit.
Rock romanced girls by taking them to dinner, then to a club for dancing and then for a drive; who puts that much effort into dating these days?
Single girls in NYC had maids (the always hilarious character actor, Thelma Ritter) and some people had party lines because the city couldn't put in trunk lines fast enough to satisfy the demand for private telephone lines.
Love isn't an opinion, it's a chemical reaction.
One of the best scenes comes in a diner where a couple of customers are supposed to "punch" Tony Randall's character as he sits consoling Doris.
Apparently, the actor actually hit Randall, knocking him unconscious and the shot was so good the director used it.
I hate to admit it, but it was pretty cool to see a person hit for real and pass out. A girl like me (or a guy like my friend) doesn't often see such a thing in one's daily life (or necessarily care to).
But, who am I trying to kid here? I was there for the romance, not the fisticuffs.
It only takes one sip of wine to tell if it's a good bottle.
The love/wine analogy there was anything but subtle.
As the Thelma Ritter character put it, "If there's anything worse than a woman living alone, it's a woman saying she likes it."
I got what she meant, but we don't think things like that in 2012 anymore.
And while I may live alone, I did manage to have a date for "Pillow Talk."
I dig older women.
Now I'll work on finding a muff.