It began simply enough.
"Have you heard of this movie? Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret."
"Yeah," my wife said, distractedly. Then, with a note of suspicion, "Why?"
There is only one reason I ever bring up a movie.
It was a rhetorical question. Even I recognized the name Judy Blume; I suspected my wife had read the book when she was younger. (She hadn't.)
"We should watch it sometime," I said, trying to invoke all my Gen X 'whatever' attitude. I wasn't afraid of her judging me—she's had time enough for that, and has decided she's more or less okay with my whole deal—but wanted to maintain some modicum of street cred.
She lowered her iPad. "Do you know what it's about?"
"Ahh.. no. Kinda? Girls and stuff."
"And you still want to watch it?"
I shrugged. "I heard it was good."
When it comes to watching stuff, that is honestly my only criteria. Is it good? Obviously, personal taste plays a role. I'm more inclined to look favorably on things with spaceships or swords and less so on torture porn or shows about horse melodrama (which is more or less one in the same).
It's been a month since this conversation occurred. Last weekend, we finally watched it.
I wasn't prepared.
