What I always enjoyed about Morticia and Gomez was how they made no secret that they passionately loved each other. We get so used to seeing depictions (on television especially) of married couples in continual states of contention—belittling one another, falling into the wife/mother-husband/child trope, and generally disrespecting each other, which made me wonder why they even bothered marrying in the first place.
But Gomez and Morticia never lose their desire and respect for each other. Is it because they’re “weird” that it’s acceptable to depict married life so positively? Or are they “strange” because, after three children and a lifetime together, they still adore each other? I know no marriage is perfect, but wouldn’t it be nice if the media portrayed marriage as more than a continuous state of exasperation and anger? Maybe that’s why romance novelists and romance novel readers are so embattled: because we dare to believe in love.
“How long has it been since we waltzed?”
Never miss a chance to reblog Gomez and Morticia.
ive been waiting my whole life for this gifset
My spirit animal.
So, Will Smith rapped on The Graham Norton Show again tonight. And DJ Jazzy Jeff was there. And Alfonso Ribeiro did The Carton Dance. It was a joy to behold.
if they’re not the cutest father son team :)
Best thing on the Internet I’m in tears
“For the last 20 years of my life, I’ve been wearing something unrecognizable. I’ve been acting for 20 years now and I’ve been under the radar.”- Doug Jones
I’m not saying we should have sex but we should
Roland Mesnier, who worked at the White House for 26 years beginning with the Carter administration, said when President Bill Clinton came into the White House in 1993, he had a “scary” appetite.
“He could eat five or six pork chops.” He recalls the episode of a strawberry cake he made one evening. Clinton devoured half of it all by himself, and the next morning he wanted more. ‘No one could find the cake,’ says Mesnier, who had a face-to-face with the distraught commander in chief. ‘Clinton was pounding on the table and shouting, “I want my goddamned cake.”’