Mistake at the Movies

Recently, I went with Mr. Hot Stuff to a matinee to see Rogue One, a Star Wars Story. It was playing at Shea 14, an older theater not too far from my home in Scottsdale. I’m not a huge sci-fi fan, but I do love Star Wars.

Friends always give me the Harkins shirt and loyalty cup for Hanukkah, so I can get a free popcorn and $1.50 soda refill each time I attend a Harkins movie theater. I upgraded to a large popcorn for a dollar so I could share with Mr. Hot Stuff and bought him a loyalty cup filled with soda. (He had paid for the tickets.)

It was already dark in the theater when we chose our seats. He sat on the aisle to accommodate his long legs. (He’s fix feet six inches tall.)

Of course, about three quarters the way through the movie, I had to go to the bathroom. I quickly exited, visited the ladies’ room and raced back to my seat. I didn’t want to miss the action.

After the movie, as the credits were rolling, I said, “Since this is a prequel, we know how it ends.”

“Yes, no mystery there,” came the answer from an unfamiliar voice.

I looked to my left to see a nearly bald man, Mr. Hot Stuff’s follicle situation, but I was definitely not sitting next to the person with whom I’d arrived. I blanched and looked around. There sat Mr. Hot Stuff across the aisle and a row behind me.

I went hysterical laughing. I got up and sat down next to Mr. Hot Stuff. We both laughed so hard we couldn’t speak.

The man I’d sat next to left his seat and stopped to speak to us. “Just don’t tell my wife.”

This cracked all of us up.

I was nearly gaining my composure when the people across the aisle stood and said, “We got it all on video on our phone.”

This set off more deep belly laughs.

As we exited the theater, Mr. Hot Stuff said between chortles, “I was worried. I thought either you hated the movie or I’d come out to find ambulances.”

That evening, every time one of us mentioned the incident, we burst into gales of laughter.

All that laughing di me a world of psychological good.



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