We were driving home on Friday night. Our leftover popcorn was in a bucket between my feet. It spilled, and I sobbed. Don't ask me how a bucket of popcorn could elicit that kind of response from me, but I think it wasn't the only culprit. It could have been the homesickness that had been welling up inside me for a few months now. The longing for my family and for open spaces. It could have been the failed attempt of redeeming our February VIP voucher at Happy Sumo (an hour wait was just too long at 9:00pm). It could be those feelings of inadequacy that find their way into my heart every so often. Or it could be the unrealistic expectation that my husband and I should have the same opinion on every film we see. If he didn't love The Artist as much as I did what's wrong with our relationship???
Oh the irrationality that comes with being a woman. I reminded myself of this.
Never fear, the night ended up ok. We used the ever-helpful Yelp app on our phones to find another great sushi place with no wait at all. And though I would have preferred discussing the aforementioned film we had just seen, I'm ok with the fact that a black and white silent movie set in the 1930's doesn't speak to my husband as much as it does to me. What a Friday Night.