Last night was girl’s night out and I think some of the girls were prejudiced against my baby-blue sedan and its lack of sweet hydraulics or woofer-enhanced system. This car pre-dates my entrance into college but it’s just so “roomy” and “comfortable.” Ladies night would not be complete without The Flying Smurf.
We cruised down Main Street Suburbia with the gangsta rap of our high school days playing on the stereo. The gangsta lean was out in force as well as the giggling. Oh, there was giggling. And also crying.
The first round of crying occurred shortly after we arrived at Claim Jumper for desert and Shirley Temples (thanks to Karli for inciting this beverage revolution). I got a call from DY Dad.
Dan: Are you at the movie yet?
Me: No, we’re just starting desert? (Mad giggling and way too fast talking in the background)
Me: Magoo’s crying?
Dan: NO, EV-ER-Y-ONE is CRYING. Do you know where Ducky is?
This is the bed-time kiss of death. If everyone’s already crying, and there’s no Ducky, you are a goner. I gave some suggestions, offered some words of comfort but there wasn’t much I could do from there. Eventually he found ducky….wrapped in a blanket…in an upturned stepstool…..in our bedroom…..with a book on top of it. He is a hero of fatherness.
The second through 100th rounds of crying occurred throughout the movie. Ah! Pride and Prejudice condensed into 2 hours of romance and repressed passion. Is it possible? Is it even safe? We laughed, we cried, we grabbed each other’s arms and tried to hold in our screams of glee. It was AWESOME!
Proposal…..under pillars…. covered in moss…..in the RAIN……. with pride and anger that almost leads to a make-out session? This never happens in real life but I think it will now happen in my NANOWRIMO book.
The cinematography was great, adaptation excellent, somehow magically paced slowly enough to maintain the spirit of the book but still cram everything into 2 hours. Go see it. Go see it now. Children, schmildren!
For this outing, I carried a purse so small it couldn’t possibly contain a diaper, wipes, sippy cup, crayons, changes of clothes, snack-foods, flashlight, Leatherman, hats, sunscreen, teething rings, half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches or Ziploc baggies.
I wore hair jewelry, piggy tales and loads of faux bling. Despite the fact that I forgot my eye glitter, the teenage boy at the counter asked me if I was a student. I so wanted to say, “Yeah, I go to Suburbia High but I, like, forgot my ID. Can I, like, get a discount anyway? Juniors rule!” followed by the mad batting of glitter encrusted eyelashes. Instead, I laughed and said, “You should ask my kids,” and forked over the 9 bucks.
Karen and a few others have recently hinted at the fact that they may be too old to wear the Daring Young Mom gear. I consider anyone a Daring Young Mom until they gracefully make the transition to Daring Young Grandma. It’s all in the ”˜tude ladies, all in the ”˜tude.
The scene that inspired the most crying in our group involved a painfully (in a good way) long walk by Mr. Darcy through the mist to Elizabeth Bennet where they professed their love and then consummated it by tenderly touching noses as the sun rose over the English country side.
Movies like this always remind me of Dan’s and my romantical and dramatic courtship. The repressed passion, the rain, the nose touching! It made me want to go home and just really squidge him and Eskimo kiss him for hours on end.
I just really like him a lot. I’m so glad to be married to a man who Mr. Darcy makes me glad to rush home to.
(For another perspective on this evening, see Eulallia’s post.)