I've read each of the books at least twice. I've listened to the audio books at least once, more than once for a few of them. I have been to see each movie during opening weekend.
That said, I typically dislike the movies. I'm a lover of books. Once I've read the book, if I loved the book as is the case here, I become very disappointed with the movie. They always leave so much out. Things that I feel are important to the overall story line (and my opinion is the only one we'll be worrying about thank you). I usually disagree with the casting choices and I really, really hate it when they add things.
This one time, I didn't hate the addition. I will not spoil this for anyone interested. But it was a cool addition.
But this post isn't about the movie. It's about my evening with my mother and sister.
The original plan was to leave around 2:00 and grab some lunch before catching the 4:00 movie, which we already had the tickets for. My family absolutely can not be on time for anything. It's as if it's not in the stars for us to get any where when we are supposed to be there.
So, after all the fucking around is over with, we finally leave around 2:30. I feel that, even though this is opening weekend, 4:00 isn't a super popular time to see a movie and so we still have time for lunch. My mother feels differently. She wants to be there like 45 minutes early so we can get good seats.
Mom: "I'm not sitting at sea level. If we have to sit up front I'll just leave."
Everything, always and forever, is about my mother.
So we end up at Wendy's. I hate fast food. This pregnancy has me eating celery stalks and cheese because I can't stomach grease in any form. So we get our shitty fast food lunch and sit down (which only happened because I insisted on at least going inside the restaurant instead of hitting the drive thru).
The only person that ate their entire meal was me. My sister ordered some burger and chili cheese fries. She took one look at the fries and declared with an up-turned nose that "these are too wet. I can't eat them". I've never thought of chili cheese fries as "wet". Hey, whatever. I enjoyed mine.
My mother ordered a salad. She has a tendency to run. her. fucking. mouth.....forever. She never stops talking. I actually have to walk out her front door in order to stop the conversation so I can leave. Even then, she keeps talking. To no one.
So she's yapping away and opening her salad. She opens her dressing packet and starts pouring it on the salad. A couple of tablespoons later she stops and says "God I hope this isn't fucking ranch, I'll have to puke on my salad."
Meanwhile, at the table next to us, a 7 or 8 year old boy looks distressed.
Me: "Mom, there's definitely a little kid right there."
Mom: "Shit, it is ranch."
Me: "Yeah, it's the avocado ranch that comes with that salad."
Mom: "They never asked me what I wanted for dressing."
Me: "No, because that's the dressing that comes with that salad. They assume you want it because you didn't say you didn't."
Mom: "Well (pushing the dressing coated leaves of lettuce to one side) I'll just eat this side."
This happens all the time. My mother is never, ever, ever happy with what she orders. Ever. It's like a lovely little family ritual now. We get food, she hates it. No matter what. No matter where we are. She's going to hate something. I've actually seen her spit food out of her mouth.
Even taking pregnancy into account, I can recall every time I've had to actually spit food out of my mouth because it was so bad I couldn't eat it. Every time involved a texture issue. Like an egg shell in my eggs or an underdone potato in the potato salad. The potato salad was actually hilarious because I was pregnant with my daughter and walking through the mall eating potato salad from a deli in the mall. I bit into a potato that wasn't cooked all the way and my gag reflex went into psycho mode. If I didn't remove the offending potato from my mouth immediately I was going to be the sad, sad person that threw up in a mall garbage can. All was well in the end. I didn't have a napkin or anything so I had to actually spit the unfortunate mouthful into said garbage can. No vomit though so I call that day a win.
If I find an egg shell in my eggs, or something crunchy in something that should definitely not be crunchy (like peanut butter??) I nonchalantly spit my food into my napkin and just stop eating whatever it is, pretending none of it ever happened.
If I don't much like what I've ordered, I'll still eat it. I really can't think of ever eating anything that was so un-tasty that I just couldn't eat it. I'll just avoid ordering it again next time around.
Not my mother. She once spit hummus right out of her mouth back on to the plate because it was a little spicy. It was unsettling to watch. (Like "bleechhh" mouth totally open with a little bit of velocity, but not much. Fucking gross mom.) And this sort of this is pretty common. One would think I'd be used to it. That I would be expecting it.
Nope. Not this girl. I'm hopelessly naive about the situation. So every time this occurs, I'm surprised. Not as in "I can't believe that happened", but like "I can't believe I didn't see that coming".
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