Because of my atrocious eyesight, I once had an optometrist warn my husband, in front of me, mind you, that Brad should never venture into the forested wilderness with me unless he first had me affixed firmly to him with rope. Naturally I was indignant but unfortunately, my husband and my family took this dire threat of impending danger very seriously so that I am rarely out of the sight of concerned family members. Until the other day...
In search of a specific movie, the Mosimans ended up at an unfamiliar theater mega-complex. After bumbling my way through the paying peep-hole..."Wait, I know I have another twenty on me somewhere," I shouted at the girl behind the glass before I began to publicly molest myself in my search for cash while Brad and the girls pretended not to know me as they stood in the velvet-roped mouse maze with the other staring spectators. Tickets finally in hand, we headed in the general direction of our movie when nature called. "I'll catch up with you," I said confidently as my family looked at me with marked doubt but, as we were pressed for time, they let me go about my business.
Emerging from the ladies room, I suddenly realized that I didn't have my ticket. No worries, I shrugged, the title will be posted. Or so I thought. And thus began the most harrowing journey of my life (in the month of January 2015) as I wandered lost in a popcorn-scented labyrinth. I set my compass by the movie posters that plastered the walls...panicking as I passed the same ones, over and over again. A man carrying armloads of cut cardboard passed me in a narrow passageway. "Can you tell me where my movie is playing," I asked, stooping to pick up some sheets that had fallen from his pile and then helping him carry his load to the exit. "What number is it," he responded, not acting at all surprised when I explained to him that I didn't have my ticket. He disappeared without providing me much assistance. I hurried back down the carpeted hall, now frantic for some help. A man wearing a white dress shirt and tie appeared very knowledgeable and was listening patiently as I regaled him with my sad story. Suddenly a hand latched itself firmly onto my elbow, interrupting my dramatic gesturing. "I've got her," my daughter Sydney said softly to the man, tugging me away as the man nodded with sympathetic understanding.
Sydney led me to the missing movie room as I desperately tried to defend myself. Spotting me, Savannah immediately brightened, certain that I would be bearing a bucket of buttered popcorn after my long absence. "Mom was lost," Sydney hissed, settling me into my theater seat and handing me my water. Brad patted my arm with sympathetic understanding and muttered something about a micro-chip. Safe and sound, I squinted happily at the screen trying to catch up with the story-line. I must have missed the part about the micro-chip.
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