If Nicholas Sparks films are wrong, I don't want to be right.
The American novelist, screenwriter and producer, responsible for The Notebook, Dear John and numerous other ridiculous schmaltzfests, is closing his film production company, Nicholas Sparks Productions.
It's not entirely clear what this will mean for the novels Sparks has yet to make into movies but I for one can't even bear to think about a world without these angst-ridden sop sagas.
I am still yet to read a Nicholas Sparks novel but I've watched enough of the films on a rainy Tuesday night when husband's out and I am scraping the Netflix barrel to know that they all follow exactly the same formula:
Spoilt, strong-willed rich girl meets brooding, sensitive poor boy somewhere in the American Deep South.
Girl and boy fall in love and share their first kiss in some sort of inclement weather.
Rich girl's family object to the relationship but invite poor boy over for lunch/dinner where rich parents quiz and undermine poor boy.
Some convoluted plot device conspires to separate our young lovers.
The lovers are reunited some years later and pretend they don't love each other anymore.
After 76 intense, wanton stares, they have a sexy fight followed by the best candle or moonlit make up sex ever.
Yes, Sparks has made the same film 34 times but I defy you not to want to watch this exact film when you're tired and emotional and just want to watch two hot people fall in love and snog in the rain.
So is it over? Or is this just some obstacle that has been sent to test our true affections? We await the breathless reunion.