LET’S GO TO THE MOVIES

I love watching movies. These days, you don’t even need to go to the theater, buy a ticket, and sit with your feet sticking to the gluey floor. No, you can see just about everything on TV. On demand. Or on HBO. Or Netflix. But this is a problem over here, because my husband hates watching movies on TV.

He prefers getting dressed in something other than sweats, putting on shoes, getting in the car even when it is freezing out there, parking, slogging through the ice and snow to pay an exorbitant price for tickets, and sitting there in the dark. He doesn’t even like popcorn.

I asked him about this, because a friend lent us some CDs they bootlegged somehow: Gone Girl, Whiplash, Boyhood, and some other good ones. I was excited to watch them, but he declined to keep me company.

ME: How come you won’t watch these with me? They are all up for Academy Awards!

HIM: I don’t like movies at home.

ME: But why? It is so much more intimate.

HIM: Because you can pause them.

ME: Huh?

HIM: Pause. In order for you to go to the bathroom. Or get an orange. Or ask a hundred questions. Or comment about the guy’s abs or the girl’s hairdo.

ME: I don’t do that! Well, everybody has to pee sometimes.

HIM: You ask me what is going to happen. Is that guy going to get killed? Or worse, you “call” the show: “She is pregnant!” or “He is going to kill the wrong woman by mistake!” You basically ruin things. What do they call those—SPOILERS? You are a big spoiler. You can’t do that in the theater.

ME: Oh.

I had no idea that my comments weren’t helpful. Or that eating an orange during love scenes was distracting. Hey, you know Gone Girl? Well she wasn’t very nice…

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