“My mother wants to see a movie,” said my partner. “Something about a little fish looking for her parents.”
“Awesome! “ I said with an enthusiasm I did not feel. “Have a good time!”
He paused and just looked at me for a second. “She wants us all to go,” he said and, when I did not respond, he said, “she thinks it would be nice for us to all do something together as a family.” I was still silent so he added, “Come on; it’s her last night of vacation. She goes back to New Jersey tomorrow.”
I sighed; only in my partner’s family would sitting in a dark theatre and not talking for three hours qualify as a bonding experience, but after 22 years I have learned to pick my battles and since Duckie, my partner’s 90-year old mother, always gets what she wants, there was really no point wasting my energy fighting. But I tried.
“Why not just wait until it’s on Netflix or HBO?” I said hopefully . “What’s the rush?”
“Duckie is 90;” said my partner shortly. “She doesn’t have that kind of time.”
“Huh.” I said eloquently, then, predictably I caved: “There’s a 7:15 show,” I said mournfully.
Duckie was ebullient. “I want popcorn,” she said. “A big one! And a Coke!”
I gave her the evil eye. “No Coke,” I told her shortly, “you remember what happened last time?” The last time Duckie had a Coke the combination of sugar and caffeine motivated her to try to jump rope on the patio; how she emerged with two intact hips is anyone’s guess.
Before I knew it we were off to the movies; I drove, in a sour mood because while I love watching movies I hate actually going to the cinema — which is why the last movie I saw was “Avatar” in 2009 when the quartet of octogenarian women behind us was so noisy and so disruptive that I swore I would never go to the movies again.
We stood in line surrounded by families with many small children and Duckie and my partner chatted while I wished I was dead. When I got to the window I ordered two adult tickets and a senior.
“That will be $42.68,” said the cashier. I stared at her, mouth open.
“Forty-two sixty-eight?” “ I repeated, incredulous. “Last time I was here the tickets were $7.00.”
“That’s what the old people always tell me,” she said indifferently. Stung, I was all set to say more but the crowd behind me was getting restless so I paid the $42.68 and walked away, muttering.
“Let’s get some popcorn,” said Duckie and, sighing, I got in line at the concession stand. My partner, like his mother, loves popcorn, but he thinks it’s disgusting to share his popcorn with anyone (something about their grimy, spittle-soaked fingers digging into his popcorn box) so they each needed their own box. I hate popcorn but I’m a Diet Coke addict so I ordered two large popcorns and, forgetting my earlier vow, two large cokes for them and a large diet coke for me. I had just taken a preliminary sip of my Diet Coke when the cashier told me, “That will be $37.28.” 
It had been a long time since I had been to the movies but even longer since I snorted Diet Coke out of my nose, which is what happened now.
“I know, I know,” said the bored cashier. “It was cheaper back when you were young,” and I nodded mutely.
As we walked to the assigned theatre I wondered how families with little kids – and they were everywhere — could afford a family night at the movies; that’s when Duckie said decisively, “I need some junior mints! And some Good’n’Plenty!”
“Your turn,” I told my partner. “There’s an ATM in the lobby.”