Half Of A Movie Is Better Than The Whole Thing

In a world of people seeking Botox treatments and gastric bypass, we are constantly bombarded by different methods to achieve perfection. Everyone wants to be perfect. Never stopping to think that our favorite people are not always flawless. Maybe we love Tom Cruise because his big nose somehow makes him more attractive. Or Julia Roberts because of her overly wide mouth. We definitely love Austin Powers because he has really bad teeth.

This even goes along with friendships. Maybe we don’t love our friends because of their perfections, but it’s their flaws that endear them. I once had an uncle that drank excessively. He was always one of my favorite uncles because his breath always smelled so sweet. I have a cousin that teases until you are ready to jump out a tenth floor window. But my kids love him because, when he visits, my sons start speculating on what different ways he has discovered to hurt you until you holler. Intense pain. And with just two fingers.

We have a close friend that stops by often, shares a beer and some chips, and watches TV for awhile. He just bought a high-def TV and has been eager to show it off. Inviting us over to watch a movie at 7PM, we happily accepted. By afternoon, I had a few errands to run and told my husband I would be back in time to go to the high-def movie night.

Finishing my errands, I ran into Brookshire’s for a cake and some chips to bring with us. I cannot visit friends without bearing gifts, or "with my hands under my arms" as my grandmother used to put it. Although I knew time was tight, I needed that cake. Grandma would berate me in my dreams if I had gone cake-less and arrived on time. No worries, I knew the two men would wait. It wasn’t like at 7 PM shots would be fired to start the race.

Returning home with a huge, chocolate cake, I walked into an empty house. My husband had left without me. I shrugged it off and headed to our friend’s house two blocks away. Opening the door with a sheepish grin, he hid his open beer behind his back. Calling from the couch that the movie was a good one, my husband grinned away as he told me I had missed the first half hour. What a shame.

The two men snickered as I started crabbing about how polite it was to start without me. I thumped the cake down in his kitchen and plopped on the couch to watch what was left of the movie. I crabbed some more, but not concerned with global warming, our friend had his air conditioner set on sub-zero and it was blowing right on my head. As my body temperature dropped and I started losing motor skills, I quit crabbing so much.

For awhile the men watched the movie in peace, glad of my silence, until ice started forming on my head. Our friend asked if I found it chilly and if the ice on my head was uncomfortable. He graciously turned off the air and brought me a blanket. He placed it on my head, since that seemed the area that was coldest, but that made it very difficult to watch the remainder of the movie. The men kept laughing at the movie. I was never offered a slice of cake.

The next day I sent him a very polite thank you for the previous evening. I told him how much I enjoyed seeing a part of a movie. The part I had seen was very enjoyable, especially in high-def. How nice it was of him to give me a blanket when I had gone into hypothermia, not all friends would have noticed that a guest was frozen. And how he and his sons must have enjoyed eating my entire chocolate cake.

But the best part of all was he had given me a long time span to complain on the imperfections of the evening. I do fall into that category of person that really loves to complain. His friendship had offered me the wondrous gift of an evening full of errors, along with a lowered heart rate.
A perfect evening is always nice. An imperfect evening is even better. To complain for days. To wonder who actually did eat that cake. And to never be forgotten. After all, I’m still telling it to you.