At the Movies

The Major loves films.  But I do not particularly enjoy the cinematic experience.

I know, I know → part of that “cranky, old man” thing.

Anyhow, every once in blue I decide I want to go.

Yesterday, I called an audible at the line of scrimmage and decided to take Subway Dude and Running Girl to see “The Hangover, Part II.”  The Fashioni$ta graciously decided to babysit Jungle Child (ka-CHING).  Seemingly, all obstacles had been removed from our film-going venture.

Except for…the popcorn.

Okay, let’s do one of those logic puzzles:

Running Girl :: Chocolate

The Major :: ???

Is it:

  1. A sharp stick in the eye;
  2. Hot M-16 shells down the front of your BDU blouse;
  3. A built-in swimming pool with green, slimy water overflowing the rim of the pool deck;
  4. Salty snacks;
  5. All of the above.

If you picked 4, you win.  Congratulations.

Going to the movies means getting the biggest tub of popcorn available with quarts of butter-like topping applied liberally.  Choose your cinema house carefully as some chains offer a free refill if you survive finish the Toyota Prius-size tub of popcorn.

Although I always promise myself that I will exercise moderation, my Jim Morrison side gets the better of me:

Break on through to the other side.

Soooo, last night I made RG promise me that I would not be allowed to get any popcorn at the flick.

I ran through several practice drills with her beforehand:

TM:  Can I get popcorn tonight?

RG:  No.

********

TM:  Hey.  You know what would be good later on?

RG:  Not popcorn.

********

TM:  It looks as though the rain might let up.

RG:  Nice try.  No popcorn.

*********

So you see can see that Running Girl had hewed closely to my instructions.  She was unflappable.  She would stand like a strong bulwark against my feeble supplications for movie snacks.  Virtue would triumph over gluttony.

Until………….on the way to the movies:

TM:  Running Girl, if I buy you the promotional-sized box of Junior Mints, can I get popcorn?

RG:  Okay.

There stands The Major in slack-jawed amazement.

— The Major

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