WC and I intended to see a horror movie tonight. But it didn't turn out to be one. Twilight turned out to be... sweet, funny, a complete tear jerker, saved from our derision only because there was one gratifyingly violent scene in which body parts were torn apart and ultimately burned.
Different scenes got to us. For WC, it was the scene where the boy (a vampire) lifted his girl (a human) over the stairs because she had a cast on her ankle (a result of the violent scene I just referred to).
For me... it was when they danced. She didn't know how to dance. He lifted her and placed her feet on his. Perhaps it's because I am a daddy's girl myself. That is how I danced for years, balancing on my father's feet.
I turned to look at WC and we were both weepy. Although the wine that we smuggled in and drank out of paper coffee cups might have contributed to that.
WC's commentary as we walked out of the theater: "That movie was so sweet I'm now mad at J (her bf)."
But that isn't what I'm thinking about now. I'm thinking about... vengeance, violence, justice - the old testament kind. I'm thinking of the scene where the vampire tore apart the person who tried to hurt his girl.
It's completely unfair of me, it's completely irrational. I know it. But... even though I would have been furious at the suggestion that I couldn't protect myself, I never forgave the person who chose to be a f*cking poodle when I had told him what had happened, instead of personifying protective fury beyond imagining.
We Are Family, My Kangaroo Sisters and Me - This article is ten years old now. But in revisiting this blog, I saw this post among my drafts and had to publish it. Had to. I am not sure to what d...
2 weeks ago