Kids. Gotta love 'em. Illegal to kill 'em. Even when they deserve it. Not saying that mine ever did. But really, haven't there been times, when everyone has felt the sudden compulsion to beat little Johnny or Janie to death with his/her own parent? Like for instance when you are in the supermarket, and little Johnny is screaming up and down the aisle that he wants Candy! CANDY! CANNNNDYYYY!!!
Or while in the waiting room of your doctor's office and little Janie (whom you just met) is asking you incessant questions in her garbled tongue while wiping her snot bubbles on you and loading your lap down with books, blocks, and other paraphernalia she finds about the office, all the while your head is pounding with a raging migraine caused by the Asiatic flu turned pneumonia, and Janie's mommy is too busy texting her friends to take any note of what her little darling is doing.
Okay. Having said that, I will now continue with my Did This Really Just Happen? And yes, to answer the question, yes it did. I was at the theater, with my family, sitting back and just waiting to get through the three dozen commercials (By the way, when did they start playing commercials at the theater? I thought that was reserved for television? You mean with the astronomical ticket prices, not to mention the fact that you have to take out a second mortgage if you want a coke and some popcorn, the theaters STILL aren't making enough money and have to rely on commercials to keep the lights on?? Come on!), anyway, tangent aside, awaiting the end of the three dozen commercials and previews (by which time I had forgotten what I had come to see) so that the movie could start. Meanwhile, the theater was starting to fill up with all the late-comers. By fill up, I mean, the original twelve or so people that were initially present had now doubled to twenty-four or so. Not exactly a blockbuster movie, as you may have guessed.
Now, personally, I think there is a certain etiquette to seat placement regarding movie going. I know that I am probably the only one who thinks this, judging by all the experiences I have had in the past, but to me, if the theater seats a couple hundred people, and there are only twenty of those seats in use, there is absolutely NO reason to sit directly beside, behind, or in front of someone. In a half empty (to mostly empty in this case) theater, one should place a minimum of three rows between other theater-goers. And it's first come, first served. If you lost your preferred spot because you were late, too bad. Move on. Maybe that's just me, but that's how I feel. Spread out folks, there's plenty of room.
For whatever reason, the little family that then entered the theater, mommy plus two, felt compelled to sit directly behind us. Now I would like to say I was magnanimous enough to not have any reservations, but past experiences led me to believe that this was gonna be a problem. And I was right. At least I was prepared.
Little Johnny and Janie were placed in the seat directly behind me. Two of them. In the same seat. Squashed together. Behind ME. Double the pleasure, double the fun. Whoopee!
At first everything was fine. There were occasional murmurs from J1 or J2, with mommy properly shushing them, then silence for a few minutes, before the murmuring began again. I was just starting to get adept at tuning them out, (motherhood prepares you for all things) when I suddenly felt a tug on my hair.
Certain that this was an accident, I ignored it. Until it happened again. And again. And again. After the fifth time, I leaned forward and made a point of pulling my hair (which was as usual bound in a ponytail) over my shoulder to prevent any further invasion of my personal space.
There it was again. Tug. Tug. Tug. TUG!
Still, unwilling to make a scene, most especially one that would involve a poorly reared small child of approximately five years of age, I leaned forward, and this time tucked my hair into the back of my shirt.
Slllliiiiip. There went my hair. Pulled from captivity, back in the sticky, melting Milk Dud laden, fingers of the five year old. Not certain if this was J1 or J2, and not particularly caring, I merely turned to make eye contact with the mother, while at the same time, tucking my hair back into my shirt.
Seconds later, my pony tail was once more in the sticky grasp of one of the J's. (By the way, in case anyone has their doubts, up to this point, there is NO exaggeration in this story. Sad but true.) I turned once more to make eye contact with mommy, removing my hair from its gooey prison a second time, then pulled a melted milk ball out of my head and handed it to her. (Okay, slight exaggeration there, there was no milk ball, just the sticky remnants of one, therefore, nothing to hand to mommy, but I think she got the hint in my glare and the fact that I was attempting to pick the residue out of my hair.).
Mommy smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. He just loves hair."
I get that. Lots of kids love hair. And it's perfectly fine for them to love mommy's hair and grandma's hair and sister's hair. It is NOT okay to love stranger's hair. And this might be an appropriate time to give little Johnny that life lesson.
But not so.
While little Johnny continued to celebrate his hair fetish, my up-do was quickly becoming a repository for all of his candy, not to mention, his slobber...
I wanted to say, "Rename him Francisco, buy him his own salon, and tell him to get his sticky fingers out of my hair! Just a suggestion." But of course, I said nothing.
So J1 continued to molest my mane, while mommy continued to ignore it. That's when J2 got bored and began swinging her feet. Bam. Bam. Bam. Right in my tail bone. Bam, bam, BAM!
Bam! Tug! Bam! Pull! Wham! Yank! I must have looked like I was having seizures to the other patrons, because every few seconds I would leap up in my seat or my head would suddenly jerk backwards or sideways for no apparent reason. I was having soooo much fun. And mommy said NOTHING.
Because after all, little Johnny loves hair. And apparently little Janie loves karate.
I don't even know what was on the screen. But I do know what size shoes J2 wears, and exactly how many times J1 has "brushed" my hair. Worth the seven dollar matinee fee, wouldn't you say?
When I finally left the theater, my tail bone was screaming and I had Twizzlers, Jujubees, and Milk Duds sticking out of all angles of my head. I guess I should be grateful there were no snot bubbles.
On an entirely different topic, and because I just LOVE being random, I had to laugh, because I just saw one of the all time best Did This Really Just Happen? moments on FB. My step-daughter's high school reportedly went on lock down because, "the Fed Ex guy spilled a 'hazardous material' in his truck while he was parked at the school... which turned out to be middle eastern mustard." WOW. After I finished laughing (especially about all the predictable but still hilariously funny mustard gas comments posted after), I realized, maybe Jujubee Coif isn't so bad. Middle eastern mustard lock-down has GOT to suck. With any luck the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile is on it's way!!
And lastly, because I am a random type person, and I found this to be a random type day, I must include the news highlights that were on my homepage. "Coach bites off winner's ear," (when did Mike Tyson become a coach?) followed by, "Lesbian gets denied communion," (there are way TOO many untouchables in this particular story, so I am just going to say, you could kinda see that one coming, right? I mean, it reads like, Jewish man denied membership to the KKK, just one of those things that you read and go, 'Well, duh.' ) From a source that advertises itself as 'first in news and analysis,' I was expecting something more earth shattering, or enlightening, or maybe even less obvious. This was the most compelling story they could highlight? I mean, I'm not saying that it's not important, but with everything that's going on in the world right now, I'm not sure that this is what I would call headline news. I was hoping for something bigger, something that might affect everyone (like the gas prices... don't even get me started on that one). Instead, I got, "Now your breath can charge your phone." Really?? THIS is the important news of the day? REALLY??
This is why I used to text my kids on their birthdays (which I really need to start doing again), telling them the most random things that had occurred on their special day. The winner (so far) was the day some idiot tried to hold up a local gas station, and while on the way out the door, tried to play mister cool and shoved the pistol down the front of his pants, scarring him for life. And I DO mean Lorena Bobbit type scarrage. This occurred on one of my son's birthdays. SOOOO much fun texting him that one....
So, in conclusion, I guess it's fair to say, that we all have our crosses to bear, be they made of middle eastern mustard, ears and communion and breath-charging phones, or Jujubee hair. It's all good.
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