Recently, K and I went to see the musical movie Hairspray at our local theatre. It’s been so long since the two of us went out, and we need to take advantage of every opportunity we get, so we were really excited for this movie. We decided to go at the last minute, which meant we were throwing on lip gloss and deodorant in the car on the way into town. K had to pick something up on the other side of town, so she dropped me off at “the show” so I could buy us tickets and save us seats. Little did I know I had chosen poorly.

The show was starting when K arrived, then I went to get us some chocolate bars. When I got back, we had to whisper a little bit to decide who got which chocolate bar, and if the seats were okay, and if K had any water to wash down the chocolate, etc.

Such minimal and necessary discussion before the movie had even gained momentum was apparently abominable to the lady in front of us. Not one minute into the movie and without giving us a chance to get settled, she turned around to give us a big, loud, and rude, “SSSHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

Taken aback at her testiness, we giggled, and tried our best to do it quietly. However, apparently she had a zero tolerance rule, because she gathered up her purse and left.

We looked at each other, amazed that someone could seriously be so uptight in a big room chock full of people out for a social evening!

K was so surprised that the movie was a musical and the opening scenes were of a, er, bigger girl, dressed in 50’s clothing, dancing through her city, and enthusiastically singing, “Good Morning, Baltimore!” that she (K) was shaking in near-silent laughter. I, however, had a funny feeling… that Weasel Wench hadn’t in fact left the theatre, and that any moment she’d be back with another person in tow.

Sure enough, seconds later, W. W. reappeared. As she haughtily took her seat in the dark room, the burly manager materialized at my side. He leaned over and said in a voice loud enough for half the theatre to hear, “Ladies, we’ve had a complaint that you’re making too much noise.”

I sort of cynically laughed in response and said, “I’m sorry, but we were hardly making any noise at all!” He told us to keep it down anyway and walked away.

I was in disgusted, embarrassed shock. As if! Did this woman not have children? Had she never enjoyed herself with her friends at a movie or elsewhere? Was she not aware that this was a social outing? She was obviously jumping to conclusions about us, too. I’m an uber-responsible person that can’t handle upsetting people! How dare she assume that I was a trouble-maker? And K is a great mother that keeps her 3 sons in a respectful line… she’s a TON of fun, but she’s aware of proper public protocol. Geez!!!

Weasel Wench definitely dampened the movie experience for me for a while. I wanted to move out of her range of hearing, but the theatre was pretty packed.

K and I tried our darndest to keep quiet, but the movie was absolutely hilarious (picture John Travolta as a big, self-conscious, frumpy laundrywoman with a funny accent, married to Christopher Walken!!), and it was difficult not to laugh out loud the whole time. We only allowed ourselves to giggle as loud as those around us were (John Travolta as a huge, self-conscious woman dressed in pink sequins and dancing around).

After writing all of this and experiencing none of the emotions I felt that night, it all seems kind of anticlimactic, but I was outraged that we had been treated unjustly by the clueless and anal Miss W.W. I hope someone shows her such a good time that she won’t ever be able to keep quiet again in her whole shrinking lifespan.