I blame Jennifer Aniston

Hollywood projects an unreasonable example of what we should expect from our partners and, as I found out this morning, creates thunderstorms where once there was sunshine.

I blame Jennifer Aniston. She had to go and have floaty hair and be all watchable didn’t she? So despite the fact I like festivals and being gobby and climbing trees, I also like Jennifer Aniston rom-coms.

The latest ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’ serves to knock the confidence any woman has in her man. He’s either going to refuse to marry you, or marry you then cheat on you, or cheat on you, or be a pizza scoffing, fat bellied pig, or cheat on you, or all of the above.

My boyfriend was none of the above until I saw this film, to which he came with me to see because he is none of the above. My girlfriend had seen it without me at the weekend so I had no one to watch it with. He stepped up, not even complaining. I think he wanted an excuse to eat ice cream.

I left the cinema feeling bewildered and like I’d been pummeled with the information that all men were jerks and if your heart wasn’t breaking now it certainly would one day. When he cheats on you.

So I woke up the next morning in a bit of a sulk and caused an argument. Then once the argument was in the air, I wanted to retract it, I wanted to rewind time, because I suddenly felt like a fruit loop, like a high maintenance girlfriend, the kind you see having a go at their poor fellas in Asda. My boyfriend was understandably confused by my outburst and said he felt a little lost as to what to do to solve matters.

It was clear only the moon on a stick was going to be good enough for this little madam.

Obviously, I’m not so ignorant to think that this is all Jennifer Aniston’s fault. I do think popular culture has a lot to answer for, but I'll hold my hand up and take at least 2% of the blame myself, for being led by idealistic movies. Films portray an unrealistic fairytale ending. One where the guy does whatever it takes, and the girl doesn’t come across as loopy. But that’s not real life.

Even love songs and poems help create the illusion in women’s minds that somewhere out there is some kind of fantastical love so immense and overpowering that if you haven’t got it there must be something pretty wrong with you. If you’re in a relationship where you find yourselves discussing the merits of the smell of Lenor and whether you want sausages for dinner, then you’ve somehow failed, because Jenifer Aniston doesn’t discuss Lenor. Or sausages.

But after a lot of soul searching today and after feeling like a bit of a fool for suggesting my quite romantic boyfriend doesn’t love me because he hasn’t done any grand sweeping gestures for a while, I’ve come to the realisation that actually this is my fairytale. I’d rather discuss Lenor, which, I’ll have you know, makes your clothes smell just lovely, than have some guy arrive on a horse with a rose between his teeth. I’d think he was a right knob.

I like reality. I like sausages and Lenor and I don’t want the milk tray man. So that’s it. No more bloody rom coms. They’re dangerous.