Say that… one… more… time…

Dear 18-year-old boy who sat next to us in the movie theater tonight,


Congratulations on finally getting the cutie-patootie sitting beside you to hold your hand. I admit being shocked because your conversation leading up to that stunning event was ridiculous.


(If you had taken me to the movies I would not be holding your hand, overcome with excitement generated by your conversation. Granted, you’re 18 and I’m… not, so maybe it’s just a generational difference.)


I need you to know, however, as an outside observer of the date,  I was able to control my behavior toward you only because I’ve heard if you act like a chemically imbalanced, interfering freako and verbally assault your fellow theater-goer, you typically get thrown from the theater.


I really wanted to watch the Avengers. And I try not to embarrass my husband with my behavior too frequently.


But if you had managed to make just one more comment about how inappropriate it was that the woman in the row in front of you was breastfeeding her infant (completely, totally covered up and with absolute modesty)…


…I was planning to punch you in the throat, new girlfriend or not.


(I’d also like to point out your girlfriend was exposing far more chest flesh than the nursing mom in question.)


That baby was silent the entire movie. That mother was completely, pristinely, prudely covered the entire movie. You have no idea how it could have been if she hadn’t fed that child. 


It is better to be silent and thought stupid than open your mouth and remove all doubt. Remember that before you open your pie hole anymore.






(P.S. The Avengers is a really good movie! A little more action than I need in my life, but not particularly violent, just destructive. The authors did a great job of portraying several strong characters in a realistic way… I recommend it!)

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