Our last date night movie was chosen by moi: How do you know (as in, “how do you know” it’s a chick flick? When your husband looks around the theater and says, “Hon, I’m the only man in here,” that’s a big clue).
This time we went to see The Fighter (his choice). Now, this is not typically a movie I’d have one iota of interest in seeing, but hey (as he cheerfully pointed out as we left the theater last week)…I owed him. I was a good sport about it.
Here’s the thing though: it was a great movie. I loved it. What it had going for it was that Mark Wahlberg was in it. A bigger thing that it had going for it was that Amy Adams (I think that she’s a terrific actress; I’ll even go out on a limb and call her the next Meryl Streep) was in it. It was well paced, interesting, and (of importance to me, not so much my husband) not overly bloody.
It’s based on a true story about a (you guessed it) fighter and his brother, and how he tries to pursue his dream both with, as well as in spite of, the support of his wildly extended family.
For the dinner part of our date, we went to Mike’s Clam Shack. We split fried ravioli and Bubba’s Mixed Grill (steak tips, half a rack of ribs, and BBQ chicken breast), salad, shack potatoes, and I had a cup of chicken noodle soup (yup; still sick; see prior post). The chicken soup had more chicken in it than I’ve ever seen in a cup of soup that I didn’t make myself; it was impressive.
The waitresses were nice when, after sitting at one table in the middle of the room for about five minutes, I asked to be moved to a booth (did I mention that I hate to sit in the middle of the dining room? I need the anonymity of the periphery).
Here’s a tip: if you go to see the movie and sit in the last row in back, don’t spill your cup of Peanut M+M’s …they will roll loudly downhill to the front of the theater, for what seems like forever, while everyone in those rows in front of you will look back to see who the dope was that did that!
It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!
Okay, it was me.