it's a silly movie. Possibly the movie where Johnny Depp discovered eyeliner. Certainly focused on the need to be romantic. Or at least aware of the occasional need for romance.
As some of my co-workers discovered Thursday when I dropped into a work party, sweaty from my workout, paranormal romance novel in hand. John Buck started reading from the back to the potentially aghast group of men around me.
I was not ashamed, though, and schooled the young men on the benefits that could come their way if they fully understood the ramifications of a good romantical (some may say soft-porn) library. They need to endorse, embrace, encourage the reading of books that wax romantical. I hope I don't need to tell you why.
In any event, the movie was on HBO this morning and we couldn't stop watching. It's totally worth your 90 minutes. Young Johnny Depp. Old Brando discovering late in life the need and ability to sweep his long-suffering wife off her feet.
Days before he retires, he asks her, "What are your dreams, your hopes? What were you doing, dreaming when I was working and thinking only of myself."
She gapes. He smiles and wonders why she doesn't immediately answer. Finally, she beams and says, "I thought you'd never ask."
It's a good lesson, and one, sadly, I need to learn more than Jeff does. He is tres romantical and a great partner. I had to work really late one day this week and I came home to find dinner ready and a drink waiting.
"This is the kind of guy you need to marry, Alison," I said.
She rolled her eyes. But I do think she gets it. They had a fun night out while I had Book Club Friday. She'd been rushed through the Indianapolis Art Museum at camp last week and wanted to go back. He was over the moon at the chance to take her out. She even wore a dress!
Now, for the record, he farts entirely too often and too loudly. He is loud. He tends to want my attention often at the precise time I'm totally focused on something else. He rarely puts away his own folded clothes, and if I had a nickel for every time he mopped or swept the kitchen floor, I still couldn't buy myself a cup of coffee.
But no one's perfect. As far as I could tell, Don Juan never held a real job. But he was pretty. And, if legend is to be believed, he is "the greatest lover the world has ever known."
Sigh. My life is good.
On Friday, Alison will fly off -- all alone --to visit Auntie Jen and Uncle Peter. She is beside herself with excitement. Jeff is already plotting. Well. You know what he's plotting.
Myself, I'm both proud of her for being not one bit afraid of flying with out us and worried that I won't be with her. Invariably when we fly, I always go through the worst--case scenario in my head, plan to put the oxygen mask on first so I can get her all taken care of and then, depending on whether we're flying over water or land, I plan for what might happen after the emergency landing.
I wish I was making this up.
So Friday, I'll fret until I hear from Jen that she's arrived safely. And then I won't worry again until she gets back on the plane to come home. OK I lied. I'll worry that she'll drown after crashing on her 15th try to gtet up on water skiis. Or that she'll sneak out at night and get eaten by a bear. Or, oh, hell, I don't know, get carried away by a moose. I'm a mother. I worry.
Unless, of course, my own Don Juan can keep me occupied...
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