Dear Frank,

Of all the elements of my genetic makeup I most hate, my addiction to romantic comedies might be number one. The lizard part of my brain that responds automatically to pop music montages, snarky best friends and dramatic climaxes where the girl runs down the street to tell the guy she loves that she loves him is not only annoying but time-consuming — I mean, Frank, do you KNOW how long it takes to rewatch all six seasons of Sex and the City mutiple times? (I do. But I’m not telling.)

I could be reading books, Frank! Real books with big words in them! Instead, I watch shit like What’s Your Number.

But in this case, I had real reasons for checking this movie out, aside from appeasing the girly moron within. First off: The film’s premise, which it could be argued is a refreshing twist on the standard romantic comedy plot lines, because it puts front and center the eternal question of how many dudes a lady can sleep with before society deems her a complete ho.

Except the movie basically answers that question…

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