My son is a traitor. See, Toy Story 3 came out while he was a camp. And I REALLY wanted to go see it. But since it is the first movie Kevin ever remembers going to the theater to see, and since we had at least 3 “Toy Story” themed birthday parties, and since he owned the whole realm of Woody, Buzz, Etchy, Ham, Mr. Potato Head, Rex, Slinky, a Tub o’ Soldiers, AND a Barrel of Monkeys toys, he made me PROMISE I would not go see it without him. PROMISE, mind you. So I did.
Upon returning from camp, I knew this would be the first thing he would want to do. I picked him up on Saturday night ready to go straight to the theater, but he was exhausted. Okay, I’ll give him that. We’ll do it Sunday. “No,” he declined, “We’re trying to get a group to go see it together. I want to go with the group.”
EXCUSE ME????? But he made me PROMISE! I think there was pinky swearing involved, not to mention some heart-crossing, and a couple of “stick a needle in your eye” things.
Fine. Fine. I’ll see it with someone who loves me.
So the lovely Philip and Sara invited me to go to the drive-in with them this weekend. Who better to watch Toy Story with than the adorableness that is their children?
I was alone last night. I don’t do “by myself” very well these days. Something about being depressed and lonely and angry with God just doesn’t mesh well with 12 hours at home alone. (For those of you who haven’t caught on, it’s been bad. Really, really bad for months now.) I probably should have called somebody to hang out with, but I just wasn’t up to being social, so . . . I decided to go to the drive-in. Alone. Yeah, I know. Very Eleanor Rigby of me.
But it was to see Toy Story 3! Right? A happy little Skittles & Raisinettes movie! Right?
Oh my goodness. This was the saddest little movie ever. I sat there, alone in my car, just me and Orville Redenbacher, and wept. No, SOBBED. (Spoiler alert: I am now going to discuss the end of this theatrical experience, so don’t read any further if you feel strongly about not knowing Buzz and Woody’s fate.)
The metaphorical implications of Andy choosing to let go of something he has loved so much his whole life, and to unselfishly decide not to keep them in the attic waiting for him, but instead to allow them to belong to someone else who would love them and play with them and take care of them was just more than I could face without a box of Puffs Plus. The big box.
I am now going to force Kevin to watch “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” with me.
He so asked for it.