We start out with fashionable Taylor wandering into some diner, her hair all strategically messy and wearing a little-girl dress that would look awkward on anybody else. She sits at one of the tables, where there’s a lone flower in a tiny vase, so we can know that she’s unattached but pretty. She glances over and sees a couple arguing at another table, which causes her to flash back to her life as a Little Taylor, when she had parents who argued while she stood in another room and looked sad. But her hair is still pretty.
Then we cut to Big Taylor in some forest, where the trees bear fruit that are glossy pictures, showing scenes from Taylor’s life. Taylor fondles one of the pics, but we can’t see it so we don’t really care. Back to the diner, where a cute waiter struts up, ignoring all the other diners because they aren’t pretty and single, and locks eyes with Taylor. They instantly fall in love while the smell of patty melts fills the air.
More shots of Taylor flitting about in the picture forest, pausing here and there to paw one of the glossies while making sure that the woodland breeze caresses her hair in a wafty manner. Then we’re in the diner again, with Taylor and the waiter ogling one another and planning a life together. Cut to the pair on a random beach somewhere, and we see that some clueless stylist has convinced Taylor that wearing one of those headbands you normally see on babies would be really hip. It’s not.
Then Taylor’s new beloved does this really nelly hop-skip thing while they’re walking along the shoreline, and it’s very clear to me that the boy is gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but Taylor, honey, don’t be surprised if you find a copy of “Dreamgirls” in pretty boy’s backpack. But they keep up the pretense, nuzzling on the beach and clutching at each other.
Then we “flash forward”, according to the lyrics, and we have Taylor and RuPaul moving into a house together. She’s carrying more boxes than him, so all the warning signs are there if Taylor would just see them. Taylor proceeds to unpack some of the boxes, and she finds a picture of Little Taylor with her parents. So she has another flashback. Actually, it’s the same flashback, parents arguing and Little Taylor looking sad. What’s the big deal here? So her parents had a fight and she heard it. If that’s the worst thing that happened to her, she probably won’t even need medication or counseling. Move on.
During the unpacking ceremony, RuPaul comes in to help with one of the boxes. He smiles excitedly while he pulls something out that looks like a giant metal flower, waving it about like his prayers have been answered. Wake up, Taylor.
Well, she’s awake, but she’s back in that stupid forest with the pictures hanging everywhere. I really don’t like this place. Seriously, if you were strolling along in the woods and came across that mess, you wouldn’t think “this is really nice and soothing”. You would think “there’s probably a serial killer right around here somewhere and I don’t have my cell phone.”
Another quick shot of Taylor and Pretty Boy in their new house, dancing around with the lights out. If that’s not a euphemism for their sham relationship, I don’t know what is.
Then here comes that dang Little Taylor again, still looking sad and still listening to her parents have that same argument. This is an unhealthy obsession, Big Taylor. Let it go. I mean, it’s nice that it inspired you to write a song and all, but I’m starting to get bored. My parents fought all the time, about a variety of pointless things instead of just the one argument, and I got over it. Just ask my therapist.
Now the couple is on a slim little boat somewhere, looking all “Vanity Fair” circa 1920, and Pretty Boy pulls out a ring and proposes. This is SO Elton John during his Denial Period when he married that odd woman with a penchant for lace. I guess Taylor likes lace and denial as well, because she accepts and hugs her little chorus boy.
Oh look, now that they’re living together, Taylor and Ricky Martin are having a big fight in the kitchen, just like the one Little Taylor overheard back in the day before she was a pop star. (This always happens. You shack up, and you instantly hate each other.) It’s not clear what the fight is about, but my guess is that Ricky called her “Bruno” whilst playing slap and tickle in the bedroom.
Anyway, Taylor runs out of the house and into the night, just like she did as Little Taylor after hearing that one disagreement her parents had when she was still impressionable and hadn’t learned how to play a guitar. Neil Patrick Harris runs after Taylor, grabs her by the hair, and then mashes her face together with his hands so that she will look more masculine if he has to kiss her. This causes Taylor to remember the good times she used to have with her sexually incompatible mate, back when they were running along the beach and she was wearing the dumb-ass headband. All is forgiven.
Cut to scenes of Taylor and George Michael getting married, while their friends stand around and place bets. Two seconds later, Taylor gives birth, and we have a shot of Pretty Boy holding up the wee one and trying to figure out who the Baby Daddy might be. Then Taylor spits out another kid, so somebody’s getting some action, but I don’t think Pretty Boy’s name is on any birth certificates. Maybe the UPS man delivered more than just a package.
Then we have scenes with Taylor and Pretty Boy playing with their equally-blonde children. The kids like to jump maniacally on the bed while Taylor laughs and thinks they’re cute, which is SO not reality. Any normal parent would be spanking some hyperactive little bottoms. We also have the family splashing around on the same beach where the whole lie of a marriage began. Appropriately, everyone gets salt in their eyes, and we have an image of the little boys all alone on a rock, presumably while their parents are busy dating outside the marriage.
We wrap things up with another shot of Taylor back at that fateful diner, when she selected something that wasn’t on the menu. If she had just ordered the beef instead of the quiche, none of this would have happened…
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