What is it with us girls, millions of whom fork over good money to see the likes of Pretty Woman and You've Got Mail, in which perfectly capable women drop everything, panties included, for men whose chief virtues are their deep pockets? When everything turns out hunky-dory in You've Got Mail, it's all so goddamn nice (to the tune of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," if you please), you quite forget that this is the wrong ending altogether: that Kathleen has fallen for the wrong guy; that if she knew which way was up she'd tell that big fat filthy capitalist to go bottom-line himself, stay put with that Navasky guy, and live happily ever after writing kiddie-book reviews for The Nation.