Swayze-itis.
Bri

The love affair began in 1987 when his dirty (dancing ) ass shook its way into my heart. Primal instincts taking over, my raging four-year-old hormones would not be denied. I won?t lie: I wanted to be Jennifer Grey. Scratch that, I wanted to kill Jennifer Grey. She wasn?t good enough for my Patrick; her nose was enormous and she?s never had another hit movie. But alas, I grew older and let go of my childhood dreams. Well, publicly at least.

My tormented heart kept silent for years. I mocked him at every turn with the fear that someone would otherwise catch on to my obsession. Then I'd flog myself in front of his altar after returning home, trying to rid myself of the guilt. This cycle of self-abuse was going pretty well. And then one night I decided to stay up late and watch TV.

Conan O?Brien shattered my world, pulling Patrick Swayze out of the trash bin of washed-up stars we remember fondly to be put back on display. Bad move Conan. While trying to talk about a new movie (or perhaps it was a made for TV movie) Swayze unexpectedly cracked - rambling about cows being slaughtered, and Gene Wilder stealing his pantyhose laden sheep. It was clear to me that those marvelous hips from ''Dirty Dancing'' would soon require a cane for practical use.

Though I knew the dream would someday die, I always thought it would end with one of us dying in the other?s arms. Sadly, the fond memories I once had of Patrick Sexy have been subverted by mental images of an elderly man dancing a forbidden dance with well-groomed livestock.