Many of my posts have been movie-themed in recent weeks, but I guess that’s just where I am these days. Mike and I have been fortunate enough to see several of the films on our must-lists, and as such, many of my non-Jude, non-work, plain old married stories are movie related.
And this is the case with today’s installment.
Back in December, Mike was dying to see The Hobbit, but I was less enthusiastic about the two-and-a-half hour plus, first in a series of three version of the beloved novel. It isn’t the genre. I have a special affection for Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. But I had doubts it’s predecessor.
The reviews weren’t helping matters, either.
But Mike was anxious to see it, and I agreed because I am an awesome wife.
Mid-way through the film–an unnecessarily long, male heavy, low-on actual action film–I decided to sneak out and use the ladies’ room. I wandered into the hallway and stretched my legs a bit, stalling by looking at a few posters on the wall. Then, I meandered into the bathroom where a group of teenaged girls who were gossiping in a circle over near the handicapped stall. They all turned to look at me, and though I could have sworn they seemed confused/mildly amused by my presence, I shrugged it off and assumed that I had interrupted a salacious discussion.
Upon exiting the stall, I made my way over to the sink and made a move to wash my hands, but it was only when I looked up into the mirror that I began to laugh out loud/feel my face burn with embarrassment. Because I was wearing my reading glasses, I forgot that I was also wearing 3-D movie glasses, and thus, I had proceeded to parade myself around the hallway and the bathroom as if it was perfectly normal to sport those big, bug-eyed, lenses during non-3-D movie-watching activities.
I felt like a fool.
Though I was quick to remove them, several of the girls who were still standing their talking, glanced at me while I chuckled to myself.
When I returned to my seat, I was still laughing and had to whisper the story to Mike who also started to crack-up.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said. I knew that he was paying attention to the movie and/or believed I’d remove them before exiting the theater, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d let me walk around with something on my face. I could have a huge piece of broccoli wedged in my two front teeth, and he would let me chat my way through a dinner party without noticing/mentioning it. Heck, I could have the word “Goober” scrawled across my forehead in permanent marker, and he would say:
“Did you get your hair done?
The reset of the movie was as I expected: drawn out. The entire book could have been condensed into a two-hour production, and I would have enjoyed it so much more, but at least Mike had a good time.
But seriously, that laugh we shared after my jaunt to the ladies room was the most entertaining part of the evening.
(And for those of you keeping track, so far I have been caught doing the following things in our local movie theaters: falling and ripping my pants, tripping up the stairs in such a fashion that several people needed to call out “Check out the drunk girl” (I wasn’t), displaying my karate kicks as though I was trying to earn a black belt, and wearing my 3-D glasses to the bathroom and beyond. Right.)