The Wedding Date (19April05)
Since we went our separate ways last week -- I went to Michigan to visit my family while Paul flew to the Netherlands for business -- I was extra-excited for another Tuesday at The Cheap Theater. And since this particular Tuesday turned out to be generally horrible and mentally exhausting, I was even more excited.
As usual, we discussed our options over dinner. We had previously been leaning toward The Phantom of the Opera or Sideways, but I didn't think I could handle drama, so we agreed on The Wedding Date.
NOTE 1: I know...I know...but I'm a girl, and I stand by my right to see cheesy chick flicks every once in a while, thank you very much.
NOTE 2: Yes, my husband is a very kind and understanding man, and I have already told him that I owe him big-time.
Since spring is finally here to stay (as evidenced by the fact that a local pub is once again hosting beach volleyball leagues), getting into the theater wasn't too much of a problem. The theater was still relatively busy (or at least the parking lot was), but everyone was going to see Cursed (which, if you ask me, was even more ridiculous than seeing a cheesy chick flick).
When we walked into our theater ("First door on the left," the ticket-ripper announced blandly), it wasn't empty as I'd expected, considering the reviews I'd read. In fact, there were quite a few...women...in the theater. When we entered, I believe the testosterone levels increased by approximately 50%. There were pairs and trios of female college students, large groups of cackling middle-aged hens, and a few couples -- the few men in the theater pretending not to feel extremely uncomfortable.
"Next week, you can pick any movie you want," I promised Paul as we settled into our seats.
I quickly discovered that a theater full of women awaiting a chick flick is even noisier than a theater full of kids awaiting a Disney movie. It could even rank right up there with a theater full of Trekkies awaiting Star Trek XMVII. But none of the women were actually talking about the movie -- they were just happy to have their girl moment, away from dirty laundry and screaming kids. They just cared about the latest gossip and their friend's new haircut. If you've ever been in the women's room of a popular club on a Saturday night, you know what I mean.
But once the movie started, all that changed. All the women quieted down to enjoy the movie. And other than plenty of laughs and a few somewhat louder than necessary "HMPH!"s in response to catty remarks made by the snotty sister (the "HMPH!"s actually brought the rest of the ladies in the theater to stifled giggles), all was calm.
My chick flick experience this week was a good one. No chatty kids plunking their booster seat next to me. No socially challenged idiot kicking the back of my chair. Just a bunch of women, happy to have a night out with the girls, quietly twittering their way through a brainless, sappy, totally unrealistic (but cute nonetheless) chick flick (one that happens to show Dermot Mulroney's rear).
It felt a little bit like a slumber party.
Do I feel guilty for dragging my husband to an obvious chick flick? A little bit.
Was it worth it? Definitely.
I walked out of the theater -- after a hellish day -- with a smile on my face (and we didn't even have to smuggle in a few beers, as had been suggested at dinner).
And I'm sure I'll get to return the favor sooner or later.
As usual, we discussed our options over dinner. We had previously been leaning toward The Phantom of the Opera or Sideways, but I didn't think I could handle drama, so we agreed on The Wedding Date.
NOTE 1: I know...I know...but I'm a girl, and I stand by my right to see cheesy chick flicks every once in a while, thank you very much.
NOTE 2: Yes, my husband is a very kind and understanding man, and I have already told him that I owe him big-time.
Since spring is finally here to stay (as evidenced by the fact that a local pub is once again hosting beach volleyball leagues), getting into the theater wasn't too much of a problem. The theater was still relatively busy (or at least the parking lot was), but everyone was going to see Cursed (which, if you ask me, was even more ridiculous than seeing a cheesy chick flick).
When we walked into our theater ("First door on the left," the ticket-ripper announced blandly), it wasn't empty as I'd expected, considering the reviews I'd read. In fact, there were quite a few...women...in the theater. When we entered, I believe the testosterone levels increased by approximately 50%. There were pairs and trios of female college students, large groups of cackling middle-aged hens, and a few couples -- the few men in the theater pretending not to feel extremely uncomfortable.
"Next week, you can pick any movie you want," I promised Paul as we settled into our seats.
I quickly discovered that a theater full of women awaiting a chick flick is even noisier than a theater full of kids awaiting a Disney movie. It could even rank right up there with a theater full of Trekkies awaiting Star Trek XMVII. But none of the women were actually talking about the movie -- they were just happy to have their girl moment, away from dirty laundry and screaming kids. They just cared about the latest gossip and their friend's new haircut. If you've ever been in the women's room of a popular club on a Saturday night, you know what I mean.
But once the movie started, all that changed. All the women quieted down to enjoy the movie. And other than plenty of laughs and a few somewhat louder than necessary "HMPH!"s in response to catty remarks made by the snotty sister (the "HMPH!"s actually brought the rest of the ladies in the theater to stifled giggles), all was calm.
My chick flick experience this week was a good one. No chatty kids plunking their booster seat next to me. No socially challenged idiot kicking the back of my chair. Just a bunch of women, happy to have a night out with the girls, quietly twittering their way through a brainless, sappy, totally unrealistic (but cute nonetheless) chick flick (one that happens to show Dermot Mulroney's rear).
It felt a little bit like a slumber party.
Do I feel guilty for dragging my husband to an obvious chick flick? A little bit.
Was it worth it? Definitely.
I walked out of the theater -- after a hellish day -- with a smile on my face (and we didn't even have to smuggle in a few beers, as had been suggested at dinner).
And I'm sure I'll get to return the favor sooner or later.
posted by kdk at 1:32 PM
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