Whopping good time

I have a love-hate relationship with movie theater meals. Popcorn, Sour Patch Kids, Milk Duds, frozen ice slush drink with the straw that's also a spoon. It all tastes so good when you start, but by half way into the movie your stomach starts to angrily growl in protest of all the junk you're putting in it that you don't know if your body that's making that horrific noise or the sound effects of the movie on screen. I've had a fair number of movie theater meals in my life, and Tuesday's trip to see Half Nelson at the Kabuki added another notch to my bed post.

I thought I had planned ahead for the evening: the movie starts at 9, I meet Quressa there at 8:30, I leave my house to walk there at 8:10, I get ready at 7:50, I have a light meal at 7. But, even with all that planning, my light dinner of leftover chicken, rice, and broccoli at 6:15 proved to be too light. And, when I got to the movie theater, the glass counter full of candy was beckoning me towards it's glorious golden light of sugary treats.

I couldn't resist the siren call of the Whopper. Malt balls covered in chocolate and so delicious. Sure, it was overpriced (I could have gotten that same box for which I paid $2.75 for 99 cents at the Walgreens up the street) but it was so worth it, just for a little fleeting moment in time. I plopped myself down in my seat and started popping ball after ball into my mouth. Crunch, chew, melt. Crunch, chew, melt. I had guessed correctly that I would finish that box of Whoppers even before the movie began.

The movie, by the way, was very good. The story of a junior high school history teacher in Brooklyn reminded me of a certain English teacher, right down to the cat and station wagon.