Last week, your mother and I went to see The Hunger Games: Catching Fire. Fantastic, fantastic movie. The adaptation from the book was superb, the casting phenomenal and even though the whole story centers around violence, it doesn’t make it a spectacle.
Speaking of spectacle…while the movie was everything I hoped for and more, the audience participation was not something your mother or I willingly paid for. A row behind us, this gaggle of girls seven seats wide chattered through the commercials leading up to showtime. Fine, whatever. Then, they chattered through the previews. Okay, not cool. Then, unbelievably, they did not stop chattering for the entire movie. THE ENTIRE MOVIE.
I can understand maybe if this was a movie they were forced to see. Something like Last Vegas is not cornering the teenage girl market. Hunger Games, however, is right in their wheelhouse. If this can’t shut them up, dear God…
I feel for your generation’s attention span, Blue.
The girls got a number of sneers and dirty looks from the annoyed crowd in front of them, but apparently they were oblivious to the real danger that they were going to kickstart Monrovia Krikorian’s very own Hunger Games right there in the theater.
I should have said something but these were teenage girls, Blue. Teenage girls are awful. All of them except your cousin. She’s cool. The rest, AWFUL. Terrible.
The reason is simple. See, women have this thing called feelings. Men have them too, but there’s a big gap in complexity here, Blue. As a boy in grade school, you’re playing with maaaybe a Crayola 8 pack if you’re lucky. At the very least, the primary colors. In contrast, a grade school girl is rolling into class with a 64 pack. You have green. She has kelly, fern, forest green, granny smith apple…you get the point.
You’re outclassed. You always will be. Just accept it.
When they grow up, women can do some pretty amazing and beautiful things with all those colors. The problem is that they have to get through adolescence first. This is when they take all their crayons and trade them in for harpoons, swords and machetes with the express intent to murder your heart. And rest assured, they will, because way back in grade school you were mean and smashed all their crayons into the ground and called them gross. Revenge will be had.
This is why I was scared to say anything. Teenage girls have lots and lots of emotional murder crayons, and there was a whole row of teenage girls just daring someone, anyone, to challenge them. I look back on this episode of my life in shame, head held low. Defeated.
Might have been worse, though, Blue. To my complete shock, when we left the theater, I saw that accompanying the teenagers was one enabler mom, laughing along with them. Yup, with momma bear completely endorsing this behavior, I would surely have been murdered. My emotions would not have come out of their isolation until spring from the humiliation I would have suffered. The odds, as they say, were NOT ever in my favor.