Sunday, November 11, 2012

The Movie

The Movie

Ah, yes, the movies. . . . Those oh so wonderful moving pictures that should be a parent’s dream when it comes to entertaining the little ones . . . not to mention romantic.

Our first experience with our little girl and the movie theater ended halfway through the film.  We’d already spilled the popcorn and candy, but when the ring our little darling had worn slipped from her finger, Mommy soon found herself crawling, cellphone light in hand, through the sticky stuff that lives under the seats.

Having made it through to the point where the golden haired beauty lets down her hair and goes through a delightful, no remorseful, no delightful day, she ends up at the local watering establishment, where the many forest dwelling local thugs and other villainous patrons have a dream. . . .

Let me tell you that, just as someone’s trash might be someone else’s treasure, someone’s dream might be a two year old’s nightmare.  We left the theater pronto, but not before the short trip to the bathroom rivaled that of the state of the art sound system.   Having lost the previously mentioned ring in the paper towel used to dry our hands, Mommy was dumpster diving while her little one sang her own rendition of . . . woe to me, who once had a ring and a dream. . . . We appeared at the door to the ladies’ room just as my husband was considering calling 911. 

All in all, it was a cute movie, and I am hoping one day to see how it ends.

Being people who obviously forget way too soon, we tried our luck once again, just a few short months later.  This time armed with popcorn, drinks, candy, and 3-D glasses, we munched happily through the hour’s worth of trailers.  Having retained our glasses, I might add, through countless warnings from the eyeglass police not to lose them, we proudly sat wearing them, oohing and aahing at the screen as the little race car went around the track.

My little darling, who is now potty trained, needs to go to the little girl’s room repeatedly. It’s more of an entertainment in itself . . . a second feature if you will.  So there we go, sliding past knees in cramped spaces and ducking as we pass in front of the screen.

This is where I get smart and put the real cool black military 1950’s styled glasses in my shirt pocket, so that nothing happens to them, and the eyeglass police will be happy.  Are you starting to sense something here???   I leaned over to assist in the process and bingo the glasses slid from my pocket into the potty, and the automatic flushing mechanism did the rest.

I actually reached in after them, but to no avail. They were, as they say, gone the way of the dodo . . . as in history.  My three year old is now asking as I shake my hand off if I’m alright and wondering why I just did such a gross thing.   Now, any Mommy worth her salt is not going to admit that she’s just managed to flush those spectacularly flattering glasses down the potty, especially after the dumpster diving episode comes to mind. . . .

After washing our hands . . . in my case scrubbing, I gave her the pair of glasses off my head like they were hers all the time.  Slick!  I’m thinking as we return to tell the eyeglass police we need another pair.  I did consider watching the rest of the movie without the super duper 3-D glasses, but the screen upon my return was so blurred I figured I really had to confess.  Daddy just looked at me with not even an “I told you so” as he gifted me his own pair and went in search of another. 

The movie yielded three more potty trips, where I willingly gave the glasses to the keeper of eyeware, and we even made it up until the point where the evil lemon makes his nefarious plan known.  ‘Wha-ha-ha- he-ha!”  We were outta there like we had a dream chasing us after that, I tell you. 

I’m fairly certain the audience didn’t applaud our departure; although, I did hear a collective sigh as we closed the theater door. Daddy’s eyewear watching duties over for the time being, we high fived one another for having made it even further than the last time on our way to get frozen custard. 

You’d think we’d be cured from the process, but Daddy’s favorite saying these days is that the difference between a dream and a goal is a plan. . . .

The plan now is to not enter the theater until the trailers are over, and we’ve already gone potty, and to keep the glasses neatly stored away or handed over to the eyeglass police because it would be great to actually be able to watch one of these really cute movies at some point in the future and not threaten modern society or its plumbing . . . not to mention romantic.    :O)  

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