Every woman has an Andrew McCarthy fantasy. I stand firm in that vast generalization. If you do not have an Andrew McCarthy fantasy, you are:

a) ...too young to know who Andrew McCarthy is. You poor deprived child. I feel sorry for you.

b)... a lesbian. I admire lesbians. I often think they have the right idea. Sometimes I wish I was a lesbian. But, then I see Andrew McCarthy and remember why I am not.

c)...just fucking stupid.  

If you are older, straight, and not fucking stupid, then you understand the Andrew McCarthy burn. And, it burns so good.

My particular Andrew McCarthy fantasy is similar to the scene in "Pretty in Pink" when Andie is sitting at a computer in the library and recieves the archaic instant message from Blaine. She stands up to see where he is, and then he stands up and flashes the trademark Andrew McCarthy "do-me" grin. 

This is where the scene in the movie ends. This is where my fantasy begins.

After the "do me" grin, Andrew McCarthy indeed "does" me.

And, that's it.

Fantasy over.

Snap back to reality, and I'm left feeling high and dry because I wasn't actually "did" by Andrew McCarthy.

But, as long as I am the proud owner of "St.Elmo's Fire," "Pretty in Pink," and even "Weekend at Bernies," I will always have my 30-minute McCarthy fantasy.

30-minute? Oh, yes. Fantasy Andrew McCarthy is that good.