Clueless in Las Vegas
So, my wife and I finally went to see the DaVinci Code. Yeah, I know, but hey what's more amazing than the fact that we hadn't seen it yet was the fact that it was still in the theaters after what, nine months now? Mostly, it was to assuage my fear that we even went to see it. You see, I've been suffering for the past few months from almost endless emails from various relatives telling me about the threat that The DaVinci Code posed to family values all across this land, to which I would invariably ask them "Have you seen the film yet?" "Well, no, I don't want to support stuff like that!" "Well, how can you judge something you've never even seen/read??" I would then sometimes go on to explain to them what the word "fiction" means.
Yeah, I was pretty smug, but had the nagging fear that eventually one of them would ask "So, have you seen it?" So yeah, went and saw it, but in my defense, I had already read the book. Er, OK, hadn't read the book but listened to the audiobook on the drive to E3 last year.
There. Conscience clear.
Anyway, I digress.
The clueless part....oh yeah. So we're sitting there in the theater, near the end of the film when Tom Hanks is getting chased (you know, THAT part), when all at once I feel myself getting agitated. Something is building up inside me that is causing much discomfort and irritation. I finally realize: The lady sitting next to us is, get this, FILING HER NAILS!! In the theater! During the movie! With one of those big-ass fat files!
I was just about to lean over and hiss "What the hell do you think you're doing?! This is a movie theater, fer cryin' out loud! Would you like me to give you a chalkboard to scratch your nails on? That might be MORE fun!" when my wife calmly says to her "Would you mind not doing that, please?" in that way only wives can say things...
I've never wished I'd had built-up excess gas so badly in all my life.