I have been practically jumping out of my skin since last May to see The Avengers. You see, I have a deep love for Marvel comics and all things superhero. I wanted to share my appreciation for the comic book arts with my children, so I decided that we would go see it on opening day. I am that kind of mom. You’re not buying this are you?
Ok then, fine. I took my children as a front, so I could stare at a certain half-naked demi-god again. Thor, god of hotness. Hubba Hubba.
So, I take the kids right after school and we pull the whole junk food as supper routine and settle in for the movie. My youngest had buttered popcorn, Skittles and blue Kool-aid. Leave your judgement at the door mamas. I know, I know. Good lord, do I know.
About twenty minutes into the movie, my youngest daughter crawls over onto my lap and says her tummy doesn’t feel well. We sit for a few minutes and I ask her if she wants to go to the washroom. She says she’s okay and less than 30 seconds later stands straight up and vomits. As every mom knows, when your kid throws up and no receptacle is to be found, your hands become said receptacle.
So, that’s how we ended up, me walking down the hall with two hands full of popcorn, skittles and blue kool-aid, and my ill daughter in tow. She then went for Round #2 and emptied her stomach all over the hallway leading out. Fan-freakin-tastic. Obviously, at this point, my hands are quite literally full, so I can neither comfort nor catch until I find a garbage can. We make it to the garbage can just outside the door for Round #3.
I leave her at the garbage can for fear she won’t make it to the washroom and run across to wash my hands and grab some paper towels to clean her face. When I return, my oldest daughter is standing there looking miffed. “Ah, does this mean we have to leave?”, she says.
Ok, let’s just pause her for a moment moms and relate. Mom to Mom. You know that “look” you have? The one that says, without saying a word, “Child, if you have the audacity to say another word to me right now, so help me God, I will disown you and adopt you out to Gypsies” That look? Yeah, I pulled that look out.
On the way out, I hunt down the manager to share the happy news with him, “My daughter just threw up in the your theatre. I’m really sorry about that. Any way we could get a refund?” Hats off to the guy, he took it in stride, and handed us three passes for another show.
My apologies to the people left behind in the theatre. My apologies to the people in the line-up outside who were witness to the little package in my hands while walking across to the washroom. My apologies to the poor kid that had to clean that up. You should all know though, that as soon as I got in the car, I laughed my ass off the whole way home at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Because, if you don’t laugh my friends, you cry.
There was a small saving grace to this whole thing. For me anyway. There was a trailer before the movie with one of my five in it. Jason Statham. I’ll take what I can get.
Pleasantville Note: My daughter is fine, and in a bit of even better news, she might be scared off of junk food for a little while. Go figure.