Paul Parillo Mary Poppins and My Unrequited Love

Mary Poppins is a sex crazed lunatic with sociopathic qualities that trump any modern definition. Of course I mean this in all the positive ways possible; somehow she’s managed to pull this facade off with expert precision and dubious efficiency. And to that point I offer my gratitude, because in doing so, she’s managed to become the love of my life.

When will she come down from the clouds and visit me? Do I need to “accidentally” drop my seed into some lonely bird to bring on the illegitimate children (whom I won’t give two hoots about) just to have her drop by? That’s not fair to me. I’d be happy to court her like any ole’ gentleman; flowers, stability, broken promises etc, anything to bring her down from above, and into my arms.

From the moment we see her on screen, one who possesses a keen eye will immediately notice her hidden agenda. Aimed at fulfilling her duty as a proper baby-sitter and caretaker of children, Ms. Poppins wastes no time establishing herself at such – but in the process, revealing truer intentions. Notice; whenever her firm grasp on traditional child-rearing are challenged by the imagination of the children, her expression tells a story.

On one side, you can recognize her mulling over the options put forth by the kids, and on the other, you can see her devilish grin suggesting that she too, lusts for walking on the wild side. And as innocent as you’d wish her to be, we can all agree that she isn’t smiling at the prospects of jumping in puddles instead of textbooks. That same grin streaked her face the many moments she’s broken the “girl next door” character when faced with some naughty sexual proposition.

Adults, whenever in the presence of children, (thankfully) mask their more luxurious and honest pasts. Children shouldn’t be privy to the hints and hidden sexual salutations from their elders. This holds true whenever Mary encounters Bert. The term “sexual tension” must have been invented while watching their scenes together.

I can’t help but harbor a jealous rage when imagining Ms. Poppins coming down from the clouds and right onto a chimney sweeper’s chimney stick. It’s also why Bert tends to take the children’s side when fighting to convince Mary to go against her better intentions; Bert has the upper hand because he’s already seen her deviate into deviance.

The moment we see her fly down from the clouds, we have the rightful place to assume she is not a traditional human. And on that “logic”, I’m going to assume that I still have a chance with her. Perhaps she’ll read this and answer my plea, making me the happiest man this side of reality.

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