Teach Your Children Well
Here is a question. To smuggle, or not to smuggle? Do you take snacks into the movie theater? I did, yesterday. I was taking 5 kids to a movie, and seriously, the total cost of providing movie concession snacks and drinks to five mouths might have landed me in Chapter 11.
So my choices were: (a) take them and do not let them have anything to eat or drink; (b) take them, and smuggle; or (c) don't take them. I went with Option B.
This is against the rules. A more obedient member of society would have paid through the nose or disallowed snacks all together for her young charges. Come to think of it, "through the nose" is an apt phrase, since I'm guessing the price of cocaine might rival the concessions prices at the Century Hilltop Theater. Just a guess, of course.
You know how Parents Are Their Kids' First Teachers? Apparently, that includes being the first to teach them how to get away with something.
Good thing the weather was bad, because we really needed those heavy coats to conceal our six cans of root beer, junior mints and red vines. There I was, stuffing soda cans in my son's jacket, advising him NOT to zip it up, because it would look bulkier, counseling them as to WHEN they could unload their pockets and when they most definitely could not. There I was, giving my daughter the once over to see if she looked like she was packing, and adjusting her here and there to achieve the desired effect. I found myself giving them instructions: "Just don't talk about the snacks, don't mention them to your friends (whom we were treating and therefore, bringing the goods for) until we are sitting down." It's like I was training Ozzie and Harriet, or Ringo and Yolanda. I might as well have said stay cool, honey bunnies.
But I just can't bring myself to pay those prices. Can't do it. Can you?
And I would have been even more outraged if I had paid those prices after seeing the mediocre Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel. Apologies to those who enjoyed this movie, and I know you are out there but GOD I could actually feel my brain cells giving up the ghost. I have got to stop getting the short end of the stick when it comes to kids' movies: Rick took them to Up; I took them to G-Force. Rick took them to The Fantastic Mr. Fox; I took them to the Squeakquel.
My only regret is that the root beer was warm by the time we got to drink it.
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And also, I learned something else new today, from my oldest.
Son: "Mom, did you know that great white sharks reach the age of sexual maturity at 16 years old?"
Mom: "No. No, I did not know that."
There is something vaguely disturbing about hearing the words "sexual maturity" come out of my 11-year old's mouth.
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