A Nicholas Sparks wine breakdown.
Well done, Mr. Sparks. Well done!
  Maybe it was the wee hour, or that I was on my second glass of wine, or I was just worn down by 3 a.m. on day two with a sick kid. But since she was still awake watching Doc McStuffins on her iPad I figured I might as well watch a movie. Cue âThe Choiceâ based on a novel by Nicholas Sparks, produced by the lesser known Nicholas Sparks, which was sitting in my Amazon Prime watch list for who knows how many months.Â
  Iâm not overly sappy. Yea, I write romance but itâs  paranormal - weird things happen and thereâs some love and stuff, but Iâm not a Hallmark movie kinda gal. Iâve enjoyed a few of  Sparksâ books and have seen some of the movies too but I donât consider myself a diehard fan.Â
   The Choice started out a little sketchy for me. At first I wasnât able to suspend my disbelief at how this somewhat dweebie looking guy with a boat was supposedly the ladies man of his quaint North Carolina coastal town. I mean he was no Ryan Gosling. (Had he been Ryan Gosling I couldâve foregone a plot altogether and just ridden along for the eye candy no questions asked.)
   Then I didnât understand why the male lead, Travis, and the female, Gabby, hated each other so much from the get go. I love a contentious relationship - they can be sooo sexy (Read my book: ILLUSIONS - RAVENS Of DARKNESS. Sorry for the shameless plug) but Travis and Gabbyâs irritation for each other seemed a little contrived. Maybe the novel handled it better than the movie version.  I dunno. Â
   Another glass of wine and a whole onscreen relationship later I realized that Nicholas Sparks is one heck of a sneaky writer. Out of nowhere, Iâm watching poor Travis struggling to make the hardest decision anyone can make while Gabbyâs life hangs in the balance. Thereâs the ocean and birds flying so low their little wings dip into the surf against the backdrop of a setting sun and I can barely take in this cinematic splendor because the tears welling in my eyes are blurring my vision. My gut is so wrenched from sadness that I should be able to skip doing my core workout tomorrow. (JK âI donât really do a core workout.)
   I spent the last twenty-five minutes of the movie in fetal position, tears streaming into my empty wine glass, an emotional wreck. The power of a story made me want to embrace life and reminded me how each and every moment spent with those you love is precious and not to be wasted or taken for granted.Â
   I wanted to go and plant grateful kisses on my childrenâs foreheads while they slept.  I wanted to wake up my hubby and thank him for leaving his dirty socks on the floor each day because, darn it, heâs alive and here to leave his socks on the floor. If he was gone, I would certainly miss that endearing habit because in some ways those socks say, I love you. I chose you and weâre in this together.Â
   Although sometimes they just say: the owner of these socks didnât bother to put them in the hamper two feet away.
   (See what I did there? Two feet. Get it?)
   Ugh. I know. Puns. Itâs 5:30 a.m. Iâm getting loopy.Â
Anyway...Thanks Nicholas Sparks!
