I never want to have gum for dinner again. I know you’re not supposed to EAT the gum, but it just kept happening. It was like a palate mirage, I thought I was eating fries not Trident spearmint.
I had no idea that the 8:40 showing of The Ghost Writer would be almost sold out. I love me some Ewan McGregor ( AND YOU TOO, MATTHEW) but the last blockbuster he was in was Revenge of the Sith and I’ve gotten used to being the only person at a Ewan movie. (True story: When I was 11 years old I put on lipstick and lied my way into an afternoon showing of Trainspotting. I firmly believe showing this movie to young children would be 1000% more effective than the D.A.R.E. program)
Anyway, the show was jam packed. We managed to get seats 3rd row center next to mouth breathers and in front of chair kickers. Laura went to get some snacks but came back empty handed since the line was so long. Halfway through the movie I remembered I had a fresh pack of gum in my purse and proceeded to grub on the gum. I was unwrapping piece after piece and at one point Laura leaned over and whispered that she wanted a Big Mac. A Big Mac! A true sign of desperation indeed. I handed over some gum.
When the show was over I unclenched my fist and realized I had 6 gum wrappers in my hand. Headed home to remedy my unsatisfactory dinner with some good ole ramen. The Frankencheese Experience will have to wait, because at this point I would probably say that my intended shaved Parmesan and Pita bread experiment was good enough to serve on Top Chef
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