Movie Night

I’ve started reading Jay Shetty’s new book 8 Rules of Love. He suggests going to the movies by yourself. It was a Saturday night and my kids were gone, leaving the house silent. At that very moment, I decided I was going to go to the movies by myself. I was determined to ditch the stigma.

Movie theaters these days replicate my living room, but I don’t spend forty dollars for popcorn and a glass of wine delivered to my seat in my living room. So, I popped my microwave popcorn, bagged up some jalapeno peppers I had stashed in my refrigerator to go with my popcorn, and pulled out my kids’ Darth Vader thermos to fill with two glasses of wine. Then, I placed them inside my oversized purse, covered them with my sweatshirt, and headed out the door.

I bought my ticket and picked out the corner seat in the last row, so no one could see or hear me.

The coming attractions had come and gone, and the movie started. I settled back in my reclining seat, ready to enjoy my evening. To my surprise, when I reached inside my purse, my hand plunged into the puddle that was settling at the bottom. I licked my finger. Sure enough it was chardonnay with a slight ting of mint gum that had been stuck to the inside.  I hadn’t secured the Vader’s helmet. There is no hiding the smell of chardonnay. I took the popcorn and the peppers out and closed up my purse.

As soon as the movie ended, I hightailed it out of there before the lights went on and the other patrons of the arts could see me.

Once I was out in the fresh, brisk air, I felt magical. My small town was alive in a way I had not seen since before the pandemic. The streets were bustling with couples and families out for the night. The sound of live music was everywhere. Across the street, the windows and doors of the restaurant were open, allowing this fabulous jazz band’s music to float out onto the sidewalk. The trumpet and saxophone beckoned me.

Do you know what I thought? I’m going in, sit at the bar, enjoy the music and have a real glass of wine. But as I neared the entrance, I became aware that my purse was dripping wine. Something about going into a bar carrying a bag dripping of wine just didn’t sit well with me.

Instead, I sat on the bench just outside and enjoyed the music. I pulled out my cell phone and kept checking it, pretending I was waiting for someone to join me.

“Excuse me, miss, there are seats at the bar if you want to come in,” offered a friendly server, who had noticed me sitting outside and had come out to check on me.

“Oh, no thanks, I’m fine,” I answered.

“OK, can I get you anything?”

“Well, do you have a really long straw by any chance?”

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