Don’t even tell me you didn’t scream at the T.V. when you saw Gone with the Wind for the first time; sitting there wide-eyed when the credits started rolling after the whole “…tomorrow is another day!” No way, Scarlett, it is NOT another day! I want to know where Rhett is going and I want you to gather up your big-ass hooped skirt and hightail it out to where ever he is and get that man back! I just spent 4-hours watching you pine over Ashley Wilkes for cryin’ out loud, waiting for you to come to your senses, and you’re going to just sit on the stairs?
What Margaret Mitchell failed to realize, is that Gone with the Wind needed to be a series; then maybe my 9-year old self wouldn’t have cried myself to sleep worrying over how lonely Scarlett was going to be without Rhett and how much I wanted to slap someone–namely Scarlett–for leaving me hanging. I would have been more like my 15-year old self when I watched in utter horror as the Millenium Falcon sped away from the rebel cruiser while Luke and Leia watched. Even though I wanted to strangle George Lucas in a very bad way, I knew I had something to look forward to; I had the third installment of the series to finish the story (or so I thought).