Dear Old Geezer,
My daughter and I had been looking forward to our day off for a long time. After considering all of our options, we had decided that we wanted to go to a movie. Our dream come true would have been to go see Puss N Boots, but it wasn't out yet, so I checked to see what was playing in our neck of the woods. Luckily we were able to agree on A Dolphin Tale. As a rule, I don't like animal movies - I am a cryer. Flash back to Bambi, Old Yeller, Black Beauty, Marley and Me.... animal stories in general are bad news. I wasn't looking forward to it, but I was happy to spend some time with Sofie and to have a good time.
At the concession counter, I broke down and bought the kid box, with popcorn, a soda and some Skittles. We were seeing it in 3-D, so we juggled the straw, napkins, the precariously filled box of popcorn, and our 3-D glasses down to theater number 8. We were overjoyed to discover that we were the only ones in the theater. We debated which seats were the best in the house, and did a jig down the aisle in celebration of getting the prime real estate in the theater. As we watched the preliminary ads reminding us to turn off electronic devices, Sofie happily told me that we could text or talk or dance to our hearts' content, as we were alone. We contentedly hunkered down for the previews when You walked in.
I am sure that you could see all of the seats in the glow of the previews. How many seats do you think there are in a theater - 100? 200? A lot, that's for sure. You must have seen us, our faces bathed in the dim light, the 7-year old gobbling up the popcorn and the mom relaxing in the reclining movie seat. It really is beyond my understanding why you chose to sit right in front of Sofie. After you had made yourself comfortable, she and I looked at each other in disbelief. I raised my hands, palms to the ceiling, and shrugged, shooting daggers at the back of your head with my eyes. "I CAN'T SEE!" Sofie hissed at me. You may or may not have noticed that we had to move down a few seats. We were disgruntled that we were no longer in the exact center of the universe.
I was convinced that you were a pervert, waiting for the right moment to jump up and expose yourself to us. I made a mental note of all of the exits, and what I had in my purse that would make a good weapon if I were in need of one. I spent the entire first half of the movie peering through my 3-D glasses, and then lifting them up for a better view, keeping a squinty eye on you. I was sure that your nearby presence was somehow going to further mar our moviegoing experience in a manner which I was not yet able to imagine. It was bad enough that you started off in our space bubble, I hated to try to think up what else you were capable of doing. Don't think that I ever forgot you were there. There wasn't a moment in that Dolphin Tale that I wasn't aware of you, two seats over and in front of us, the only other patron in the audience.
Old Geezer, I have my eye on you. It may be dark, and my 3-D glasses may or may not be scratched up, and it's possible that I might have tears in my eyes (it is an animal movie, after all), and my contacts may be acting up if my eyelids happen to be puffy, but Old Geezer, I am watching you.
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