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I saw the advert for this film about pets behaving badly in the cinema here recently, and immediately upon returning home, emailed The Mom saying that it would be ideal for us to watch this summer. The Mom and I enjoy going to the cinema together as it meets a variety of needs: she dislikes going out into the heat of the day and though I, coming from Britain where it would appear summer has also been taken by Brexit, that this is just actually one long winter, would prefer to be out in the heat as long as possible, I do enjoy going to the cinema in the middle of the day. It just feels more like I’m getting away with something then, and that I enjoy very much. Going to the pictures is also fun during the winter Christmas visit because The Mom and I aren’t meant to be touring around in the car after dark so much (as neither one of us can be trusted at all times to be sober and able to see). We like to live life on the edge.

Anyhow, the thing with this particular film is that I thought it looked good and knew instantly that The Mom would adore it. She frequently derides my choice in movies and deems my selections to be dark, depressing, morbid, or all three. This is because I don’t enjoy going to see chick flicks with her because they grate on my nerves. There is only so much happiness that I’m able to cope with, and my suspension of disbelief only goes so far. The Mom’s ability to cope and do these things is much higher and stronger than mine.

So I had thought that we could go and see this film together.

And then she bloody well goes and sees it herself!

I mean, honestly. Beggars belief.

The last time we went to see a similar film together, it was the long year and a half I spent at home post-PhD, desperate to find anything in the way of gainful employment in one of two countries (Canada or the UK). In the depths of my winter of despair, The Mom decided we might enjoy going to see Up. I don’t remember if I felt strongly either way about it, but I agreed to go, if only because it was a way of leaving the house that didn’t involve me having to pretend to anyone at the local university that I was chipper, cheery, and employable (The Mom’s other frequent suggestions of outings at that time revolved heavily around university-related potential employment trips which were exhausting).

Off we toddled, and found ourselves, in the middle of the day, as one might imagine, surrounded by children and their doting grandparents.

“We should’ve brought a small child with us,” The Mom whispered to me in one of her stage whispers that everyone within a ten foot radius can hear.

“No, we’re fine. I’m small and still a child.”

“You can vote, drink, and drive. You have lived in at least four different countries. I don’t think you count.”

“Pfft,” I replied. “Half the kids in this cinema can claim that.”

“I’m just saying we stand out.”

“A small child would not help with that. A small child would draw attention to that fact. Think of the small people we know.”

I waited as The Mom considered our resources as far as children went.

“I see where you’re going with that.”

“The girl over the road has lived in more countries than me, and speaks more languages. At this point, I’m considering hiring her to be my employment agent. People respond well to her.”

The Mom nodded sagely, and then when the screen began to show the previews, The Mom did the thing that makes me hate going to the pictures with her.

She continued to talk!

There is always one advert that is shown for a few months at a time that will drive The Mom nuts. She will insist upon pointing this out each and every time you see the advert. I will shush her in no uncertain terms, and she will have the gall to turn to me and say something like, “The movie hasn’t started yet, I don’t see why I can’t talk!”

To which I will reply, “We’ve been together for over 365 days now! No more talking! It is quiet watching time now! I like the previews! They’re frequently better than the film. We watch these and you save about $50 in cinema tickets!”

Suitably chastised or at least unwilling to get into an argument she knows I will not let her win, The Mom will shrink down in her chair and try desperately to be quiet. But there’s always something. There will inevitably be one trailer or one moment or one thing that she simply cannot let pass without further comment. And her further comment is usually something like, “Hey that looks good!”

But at that point, I will be too focused on the pictures being shown to make a witty retort.

She has said that when I’m home, if this pets film is still on, we can go and see it. Which sounds good, though I reserve the right to retract that sentiment if she starts talking at me during the picture, saying things about, “Oh This is the good bit!”

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