So we went to the play last night and it was fantastic and totally made me want to become an actress. Maybe in my next life. After the play Mr. Handsome and I did what every sensible couple does when they are out on the town without children—we ran errands. We stopped by Home Depot (I hate that store) because they have a bistro table that I think would really improve our table-less deck and I’m trying to convince Mr. Handsome that we ought to buy it. But the store was closed. So we stopped in at Walmart to get a box of diapers, a can of Pringles, and a box of microwave popcorn. We had told the kids that if they were good they were to put out their shoes, which meant that we then had to buy a treat to put in their shoes. We decided a pack of popcorn per child would fit the bill—a novelty (we normally eat boring, pan-popped popcorn, so my kids think that microwave popcorn is totally cool), and not loaded with sugar.
Then Mr. Handsome got it in his head that we ought to go see a movie. He had heard rave reviews for Wall.e on NPR. Our conversation went something like this.
Me: What’s so great about it?
Him: It’s about a trash compactor.
Me: A trash compactor?
Him: Yeah, it’s an animated cartoon.
Me: An animated cartoon about a trash compactor? (Rude guffaw) Anything else? Is it about something?
Him: Um. I dunno. But there’s not even any talking for the first hour. It’s supposed to be really neat. The reviewer was really excited about it.
Me, slowly: You want me to go see a cartoon about a trash compactor and there isn’t even any talking for the whole first hour?
Him, grinning sheepishly: Yeah.
Me: Alright, let’s do it.
We got to the theater just in time for the ten o’clock showing (it was good, though a little hard on the eyes what with all that barren landscape and trash, but I would recommend holding onto your $18.50 and renting it when it comes out in the video stores) and got home at midnight. I collapsed in bed, plum tuckered out from all my gallivanting. Being footloose and fancy-free sure is exhausting.