In which I take issue with Madame Butterfly.

(I would issue a spoiler alert... but I'm sure you don't really care)

I fucking love Madame Butterfly. I do. Seriously, everytime I listen to Un Bel di Vedremo, I sob. And I am totally not a cryer.

Ok, so let me get this straight-Butterfly is "married" to this douche nozzle Captain Pinkerton who is all "Sweet! I'll have a good time when I'm here with Butterfly, and then I can just dump her ass and not even have to officially divorce her!" And that's what he does. He leaves her ass for 3 years, and doesn't come back until he finds out she's had his kid. He comes back with Wife 2.0, a fellow American, and then they demand that she give them the baby. In fact, at first, he just sends Wife 2.0 over to get it, because he's too much of a pussy to do it himself.

And then instead of cutting their faces, she gives them the baby! She changes the kids name from "Sorrow" to "Joy," and then she kills herself.

Fuck. That. Shit.

Totally don't get it. It makes me sad, yes- but I totally, in no way, understand the logic behind it. I do not know how that thought process works. I am right now making the face that I would make were some asshat actually have the balls to act like that, and then demand I give him my fucking kid. It's not pretty. It's very incredulous looking. I can't fathom the day when anyone would even have the cajones to try and pull that shit with me. Balls on a silver platter, motherfucker.