Some Enchanted Evening

Bill staggers heavily off to bed eventually to leave Mom and the kids and I to recover from the One Act TragiComedy that was dinner.

We decide to take a walk through the picturesque hamlet - visit the Fairie Garden and enjoy its magic - and of course, swipe information sheets from all the homes for sale right in the borough, and shatter the peace of other people's evenings with Mom's suspicious accusations.

"Oh! Look at this one! Why isn't Ellie showing us this one? Maybe she thinks it's out of our price range. I'll be the judge of that! Maybe I'll just have to make an appointment to see it myself!" (Or maybe "Ellie" lives in the neighborhood and would sooner set herself on fire than show you a house within screeching distance, Mom.)

We stop and get an ice cream cone and browse in the novelty shop. I pick out a few little hostess gifts that will appeal to my sister, and my son finds yet another little birthday gift to heap on his sister. Eventually, if only to eat her ice cream, my mother stops ranting and we head for our cottage, soaking in the sounds of cicadas and night birds, and enjoying the twinkling porch lights on the way.

The kids get into their PJs and choose a movie. We have no cable TV here - we bring a tiny set with a built in DVD player just in case of days on end of rain or evenings when we tire of puzzles and board games early. Tonight it is Napoleon Dynamite.

And from the opening credits my mother has to let everyone know she hates it.

"This is ridiculous."
"How did these people get to be actors?"
"Did you get this movie for a dollar?"
"This couldn't have made any money."
"Are you serious, you like this?"

She is not swayed by my children's belly laughs. Nor is she swayed by the enormous box office success Napoleon Dynamite enjoyed or its impressive video sales figures. She sits in judgement. She is a card-carrying fan of the very high-brow cinematic art form that is the Steven Segal film. And she knows art. She'll tell you the best Christmas movie ever made was the Mr. Magoo Christmas Carol. But Napoleon Dynamite? Crap!

She nearly strokes out when Kip and Lafaunduh's wedding takes place after the closing credits.

I have been trying to distract myself by helping my daughter finish a pot holder on a loom from a craft kit she bought at the novelty shop. I can barely knot off the ends with the Mouth of the South scrambling my brainwaves.

I desperately suppress the urge to scream " WE GET IT! YOU DON'T LIKE THE MOVIE. NO ONE SAYS YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT. BE A GROWN UP, EXCUSE YOURSELF AND GO ONTO THE PORCH TO FINISH YOUR VAT OF WINE ALONE! AND IF YOU MUST STAY, STOP RANTING LIKE A LUNATIC AND MAKING A NUISANCE OF YOURSELF! ONE MORE WORD AND I WILL STAPLE YOUR LIPS TOGETHER FOR ALL ETERNITY!"

Thankfully, she downs the remainder of her wine and heads to bed, her mood suddenly improved by the conclusion of the movie and her recollection that in a few short hours she will be house hunting with Bill and Elliott.

Elliott has no Earthly idea what she has gotten herself into.