Dear Gossips,

I hope what happened to me last night did not happen to you. What happened was that I was forced by Duana and our friend Lorella to watch the Dirty Dancing remake, if you can call it a remake. Jacek ended up joining me at the air guitar part and, admirably, he was able to hold it together.… until the very end, when Baby’s HUSBAND shows up, and he noticed that she’d married Will Ferrell as Robert Goulet.

If you watched it, you know, you know how sh-t it was, you know that the sh-t just kept relentlessly flying at your face. Like… WHY DO WE HAVE TO SEE THE PARENTS HAVING SEX? Nobody is here to watch the parent sex! How could they do that to Emily Gilmore!

But you know what? I don’t actually know why the f-ck we’re here anyway. Maybe, though, in these times, what we saw last night was the f-ckery we deserve. Or maybe it’s all Twitter’s fault. Twitter exists for a night like this. Could you have made it through without Twitter? Go through the Dirty Dancing hashtag today if you haven’t already if you’re trying to get to the weekend and have nothing left to give this week – in addition to what you’re planning to do, which is to watch the only version that counts. From 1987. Which has now only been enhanced by the atrocity that went down last night.

I’m sorry I have no more words for this. I was 13 when Dirty Dancing came out. I’d just come home after spending the summer with my mother in Hong Kong and as soon as I got off the plane, Natasha, my best friend at the time, told me we had to go to the mall and watch it over and over again. Which we did for the next two days – buying tickets for two shows and sneaking into the rest. It’s impossible to describe how that movie changed me. When Johnny takes off his jacket at the end and saunters over to Baby, beckoning at her with his index finger, my body felt like it was too small to hold in all the new desires that were coming out of my blood vessels. Last night it felt like all my cells were dying. 

Yours in gossip,