I’m about to get a whole lot weirder.
I tend to curb it in front of most people, but I am a pretty silly human being. I like making up songs about darn near everything and using sound effects/interpretive body movements to go along with the stories I tell. I don’t always have common sense, and this has gotten me into interesting situations (i.e. breaking both locks on my car doors and having to enter the vehicle through the trunk–for several days). And when I go to a movie, I like to practice my karate.
Let me explain.
A long time ago, I noticed that when I entered a movie theater with stadium seats, I had the opportunity to be simultaneously in public and shielded from the collective eyes of said public. This is because the wall that separates the seats from the entrance to the theater is long and tall. When entering the expansive room, there is a delightful, wide-open hallway that is mine alone for a few precious moments, just until I round the corner and enter into the seating area, often populated with couples and friends who are anxious for the soon-to-begin film. There are few places where a person can be surrounded by strangers and yet hidden from sight, and thus, I have come to love the experience of walking into a movie theater.
“There’s something freeing about knowing all of those people are just behind the wall while I’m being an absolute moron,” he says.
I could not agree more.
Two weekends ago, we went to see Les Miserables at the suggestion of every human being on Earth. I saw the play a few times and enjoyed it, so I was eager to see how it would fare on the big screen. Mike and I got our feet moving during the stroll into the theater, but partway through the film, the jumbo soda was taking it’s affect, and I made my scramble for the ladies’ room. Upon my return, I got in some excellent, super-high kicks, but it wasn’t until I ventured further down the darkened hallway that I noticed a guy standing on against the wall, waiting for a proper break in the movie before taking his own trip to the restroom.
And, yes, he saw me.
So I did what a normal person acting like an insane person would do, and I put my head down, started to shame-laugh, and darted towards my seat.
It was difficult to hold in my giggles when I reached Mike, even more so because the woman sitting next to me was dead serious about Les Mis and was alternating between sobs and sniffles the. entire. time.
“Something so embarrassing just happened,” I whispered to Mike and promised to explain myself once the movie ended. Though I should have expected that I would someday get caught acting out The Karate Kid, but I’d developed too much hubris over the years. I felt untouchable.
Once the credits rolled, I told Mike what had happened, and he said:
“Wait, you still do those kicks when you’re alone?”
“Every time,” I said. “You mean you don’t?”
I’ll never stop high kicking at the movie theater. The joy outweighs any possibility of humiliation, and really, is it that mortifying to be seen having fun/acting goofy in a public space?
I don’t think so.
If you haven’t ever tried it, I cannot recommend it enough.
I am so looking forward to teaching Jude this little trick of ours, and because he inherited his silliness from both his mother and father, I know that he’ll not only embrace it, he’ll add his own great panache. And if it all goes according to plan, he’ll pass it on to the next generation and maybe even the next one until it becomes a tradition or, perhaps, a full-blown movement.