Guilty Pleasures

Barb here, Happy Thursday! Or, as a former coworker always called it, Pre-Friday, which I like better. I’ve been pondering about what I wanted to write today, and my thoughts kept wandering back to this fairly terrible movie Dissy and I watched together yesterday.

Dissy got me started reading the Stephanie Plum books, which is a surprisingly well written series about a broke ass New Jersey woman who stumbles into a career as a bounty hunter. I read the first three books in a day and a half and am impatiently waiting for the next three to come in from the library.

They are pure escapism, this is not a series that will go down in history as fine art, it’s meant to be, well, fun.

Which takes me back to the movie, which was supposed to be the first book in the series. I say supposed to be, because there were so many mistakes made, I was legitimately offended at times.

Heigl as Stephanie Plum has grown on Dissy. Barb isn’t so sure.

How do you read “1953 Buick land yacht, bright powder blue and white complete with portholes” and instead use a medium blue car that is identical to the 1991 Le Sabre I had back in the day?! I even ranted to my husband about it.

Which got me thinking about how seriously I was taking this fun bit of fluff, and that lead to the idea of certain things being “guilty pleasures”.

According to general society, it’s perfectly okay to enjoy certain types of food, entertainment, etc., as long as you feel vaguely bad about it.

“I’m going to be bad and have this cupcake, because I’ve been good for three months now.”

“I love that reality tv show, it’s my guilty pleasure”.

Dissy and I talked about this once, a long time ago, and she said something that has stuck with me. There should be no such thing as a “guilt pleasure”. Enjoy what you enjoy, whether it’s a dessert, a trashy tv show, or whatever.

No one wins when we convince ourselves that we should only find joy in the highbrow and profound. Life can have far too little happiness, so when you find some embrace it with your whole heart.

Cent’Anni Bitches!

Note from Dissy: awwww… I’m verklempt! I had no idea that anyone ever listened to anything I had to say. I do still kind of feel a teensy bit bad about that Fred Durst thing, though.

2 thoughts on “Guilty Pleasures”

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