I’ve been putting off taking the 9-year-old to see Transformers: Age of Extinction everyday since it came out. The excuses ran rampant: it’s raining outside, I’m too hungry to take you, I’m still in my pajamas, the sun’s out, the moon’s out, I think I broke my leg, my brain’s bleeding.
Don’t get me wrong – I don’t have anything against the Transformers. In fact, I love them more than cake and I fucking love cake.
I am a child of the eighties. I grew up with Members Only jackets, stretch stirrup pants (shut up – I know you had a bunch of them!), jellies, oversized Esprit sweaters and watching Transformers on the telly in the afternoons. It was a ritual. Come home, throw my backpack on the floor, grab some junk food, turn the TV on to see what Optimus Prime and his Autobots were up to. The day Prime died on the show, I cried. I stopped eating, walked into my bathroom, crawled into an empty bathtub and curled up and cried.
What was this world coming to if they killed off Optimus Prime?
And then Michael Bay came along and my beloved Transformers were coming to life. But as I watched that first Transformers movie and struggled through two more, I realized that they weren’t really movies, but just long-winded, over-filtered commercials. My Transformers deserved more dignity than that.
Anyway, the 9-year-old’s been cool about not having seen the movie, letting me spew ridiculous excuses and just nodding his head. I couldn’t put it off any longer. So we went…
Me: Are you ready to go?
9-year-old: Won’t we be there early?
Me: Yeah, but if we don’t leave now, I’ll come up with another excuse.
9-year-old: I’ll wait for you in the car.
Me: You don’t have salad here, do you?
Kid at concession stand: Uh, no. We have popcorn and Icees, but no salad.
Me: Well, that’s not helpful.
Kid: Do you want anything?
Me: I guess I’ll just take a bottle of water.
Kid: All of our munch boxes come with french fries.
Me: Wha…? You have fries?
Kid: Yes, we…
Me: Give me the jalapeno poppers. You said that comes with fries, right?
Kid: Did you still want the water or do you want soda?
Me: No soda – that shit’s bad for you.
Me: [whispers] Can you stop texting? Your screen’s really distracting.
Teen with attitude sitting in front of me: Ugh. Okay, MOM.
9-year-old: Why did that girl just call you Mom? Is there something you’re not telling me?
9-year-old has perma-smile on his face.
Family in front of us is arguing because they spilled all their popcorn. They think they’re whispering, but it sounds more like yelling and I’m waiting for them to start singing some Monty Python song.
Am I supposed to believe Marky Mark is from Texas because his Texan accent is non-existent which reminds me of Kevin Costner’s performance in Robin Hood with his non-existent British accent and now I can’t stop laughing.
Naptime number two. Did I lock the car?
The 9-year-old and I high-five one another after some scene. I’m not even sure why we’re high-fiving. I missed most of the scene because my 3-D glasses fell on the ground and I refused to touch it because there are death germs on that floor.
This is like the movie Seven Years in Tibet and I can’t ever get this time back again and I giggle to myself at some joke I make up right then and there and want to text it to Carl, but forget about it ten seconds later.
Optimus Prime rides Grimlock – no, you fools – not in that porny sort of way – and people are clapping and pumping their fists in the air. Some guy’s on the phone with his girlfriend telling her about it. Who are these people?
The 9-year-old nudges me and smiles.
Things are better with kids. Much better.