Movie Night - a gateway drug
No sports. The Boston Marathon has been cancelled. Basketball hit the skids with a flamboyantly arrogant gesture to the Coronavirus by Rudy Gobert - a nice guy I'm sure, just very bad comedic timing. Baseball's opening day is nowhere in sight. The list is endless. In fact, here is the list of cancelled sporting events from ESPN. Other than watching sports documentaries or game replays, there are no sports to watch. None. And yet, even with this distraction totally out of the way I cannot get my husband to sit down and watch a movie with me. What gives?
I can't take the blame on this one. I'm polite. I don't ask a ton of questions during the movie. And my taste in movies is pretty diverse. Yeah, I like a love story, but mostly if it's wrapped around an epic disaster like Armageddon or Independence Day. Or maybe thrown in with an inspirational sports story like Bull Durham or Jerry Maguire. Are there any MARVEL films that don't include romance? No. So it's not like I'm asking him to sit and watch Hallmark with me. I've asked him to watch everything from the latest Star Wars movie to the latest Quentin Tarantino - another favorite of mine. I watch the gore (albeit through a weave of fingers). So although violence doesn't make me love a movie, it doesn't stop me from loving it. I've seen Kill Bill more times than I care to admit. Movie choice isn't the problem. But, what is? I'm beginning to suspect something more insidious. He spends a lot of time in his room watching TV - why not with me?
Let me tell you a bit about his man cave. It's beige. Everywhere. The walls, the wood cabinet, the old TV stand, his leather chair, the shades that block out the sunlight - all a form of beige or beige-like wood. I wasn't allowed to decorate. His chair is a huge comfortable Italian leather club chair we got at Home Goods. Actually, the chair was part of a bribe. I got two new couches for the living room and he picked out a chair, one that even by Home Goods' standards was more than I would ever spend on a chair. He loves it. On its seat sits an ugly brown pillow that I call the beach ball because of its pie-chart pattern design. His father's favorite ship picture is the only wall adornment. This man cave isn't in the basement; it's above-ground, tucked into the corner of the second floor - virtually sound proof to the rest of the house. As you might guess, his television is disproportionately large in comparison to the size of the room, so it's the only room to consider watching a movie in.
Actually, let's stop right here.
It's not that Bill doesn't want to watch a movie with me, it's that he doesn't want to share his space with me! He's afraid that a couple of man-cave-movie-dates might lead to more - the same way a few overnights in his apartment led to three kids, eight grandchildren, and forty years! Well, who could blame him? To be honest, once, I snuck into the cave while he was working and watched the latest episode of Outlander. It was heaven. I felt like Jamie Fraser and I were in the same room. I could almost see up his kilt!
Jeeze, writing things down can be so revealing. Somehow I feel weirdly better knowing it's not that my husband doesn't want to watch a movie with me, but that he doesn't want me in his space at all.
Thank you, gentle reader, for helping me get to the bottom of this. Stay home. Stay safe. :-)
