A lovely, lovely weekend. Ruined by alien guts and brains on my telly. No, not on my telly, on a movie on my telly.
But first, the lovely part: I got a massage on Saturday morning, which, apart from the bit where I screeched and squirmed like a lobster being murdered because the masseuse was inadvertently tickling me, was dreamy.
Then the loveliness continued in the afternoon with a walk through the park in the snow. And finally, a dinner of chicken kebabs, hummus, tabbouleh salad, pita and olives, during which no one cried or threw food or tried to climb down from the table.
We got the kids to bed and settled on the sofa with a vat of popcorn.
About five minutes into District 9 I realized, the loveliness was over. OVER.
Because basically, I had two choices: force myself to watch the film, or; tell J I couldn't possibly watch another second and leave the room, which would result in both of us missing it/an argument/someone being pissed off at someone, and inevitably me feeling stupid for insisting on not watching the damn thing.
So I decided to bite my tongue and watch the damn film.
As I watched it, a stream of incohesive thoughts ran through my head...
That guy is a moron.
If that moron says the word "prawn" once more I'm going to smack him.
I think I'm going to throw up.
I'm definitely going to throw up.
I'm not sure I can make it to the bathroom in time.
Oh god his fingernail came right off.
Don't puke don't puke.
I can't stand this movie. Can't stand it can't stand it can't stand it.
What the f*ck is that alien doing?
What the f*ck are they doing to those aliens?
Intermittently during the movie I noticed I was grinding my teeth, shifting in my seat, biting my nails, holding my breath. Signs of irritation.
At the end of the movie I breathed a sigh of relief.
"I loved it." Said J.
"I HATED it." I spat.
"I HATED, HATED, HATED it."
"I just HATED it. I hope I never come within an inch of that film again. If I owned the DVD I would take it right now and stamp on it. I HATED it. I really detested it. I would burn it."
Because as I get older, I hate violence and gore. And more than the violence and gore, it's the cruelty and the way the cruelty really gets to me. Yes I am a big sissy. By the time I'm seventy I'll basically live in a bubble room with access to only "happy" TV stations and "happy" web sites. And a delivery slot for cupcakes and pizza.