Amber and I went to a movie at the theater in Blair, NE last night. We parked three steps away from the door. It was two steps through the lobby, and one step to the ticket seller/tearer. Four steps later, we were in our seats. Of course, we had to detour to the ATM as the place still doesn’t accept credit/debit cards. The other employee had to ask what movie we were watching so he could go start the reel.
After the movie, we were dancing to our shadows against the big screen until the annoyed employee opened the door and stared at us until we slunk out. The highlight of the experience was not the movie (it was awful), but rather this sign in the lobby:
I like how the girl can’t watch PG movies, but the rabbit can. I was that girl, growing up. Once, at a friend’s sleepover party we watched Sister Act and I had to lie to my mom that even though it was PG, they bleeped out all the curse words. I remember being 13 and being the only one not seeing PG-13 movies.
Our only chance of entertainment (because Milo & Otis wasn’t cutting it) was if we happened upon a movie at the library (yes, I said the library) that was classified, “not rated.” Somehow we convinced mom that these were even cleaner than G. That is, of course, until we brought home Revenge of the Nerds, and when the first scene included condoms, she wised up.
Now, I never watch G films. Ever. If it’s not animated and it’s G, something is wrong with it. At least throw an innuendo in there or something – anything – for the non-homeschoolers to laugh at. After all, that is your movie-watching public.