In honor of me, for no real reason, I decided to take me on a romantic date today. “It’s Hump Day, after all,” I told me with a wink, “and you know what that means!” And then I slapped me across the face, called me a filthy pig, and demanded I hail me a taxi to take me home. Thankfully I realized my insensitivity, wrapped me in my arms, brushed my hair (silken, so silken) off my face, and forgave me.
So, anyway. “Hump Day”. Yes, I hate the term. I think “Wednesday” has such a nice, wholesome ring to it. But still, I thought it was appropriate to use the term in honor of the movie I took me to this afternoon, The Story of the Weeping Camel. I knew I was in for teary trouble when I watched the trailer for the movie, and I should have come to the theater better prepared, i.e. with tissues, napkins, a rasher of bacon, or something else suitable for tear-swabbing. (I chided me for this oversight, and sat two rows behind me during the previews.)
So if you see this movie and I am hereby yanking your remote control from your claw-like grip and pushing you out the door with both hands and you leave the theater dry-eyed, you are dead to me (said in my very best Jewish lady voice) and also, coincidentally, dead to yourself.
So, like, see it ‘n’ stuff. See it and weep.
And then take yourself to an intimate lunch, like I did. I know how to treat a lachrymose lady. I take her from an icebox theater to a restaurant frigid enough to offend ice cream. But the people at Tara Thai were so warm and inviting that I pretended I didn’t mind. Believe me, I took full advantage of the iciness to help defrost my beautiful date.
Oh, and yeah, the food was really good. Look what we shared:
Read more about the movie here.