dear me how i love that hh o’mine. let me count the ways.
for months he’s been wanting to behold all things blue-faced, 10 feet tall, and sapiently humanoid.
in 3-d no less.
i have thrown out every excuse possible:
i’m too sad for haiti
i’m too full from a cupcake binge
i hate james cameron and it kills me to give him money
blue faces don’t go with my outfit
i’ve stalled this outing forever. i was still hoping hh would come to his senses, and remember we don’t like movies like this. wasn’t that part of the whole courting process? netflix nights where we’d watch documentary after documentary. he seducing me with his cerebral cortex and matinee idol good looks. me gushing over his mismatched, bare bachelor apartment, shaking my head at ridiculous other girls whom might care about decor and design (this still makes me giggle).
where did avatar fit? did he not know me?
bribing me with an extra hot latte (he knows me) we set off for the 3:30pm saturday showing. we sat, for what seemed all of lent, and watched a silly story with amazing special effects.
hh was happy. happier was i who still gets giddy from holding my husband’s hand in a dark movie theater.