I found myself at the movies last night, spending quality time with my son; my wife was off on her own mission to paint the town red with her intimate group of girlfriends. This infrequent occurrence presented the perfect opportunity to catch up on another movie genre, not favoured by my spouse.
We purchased our tickets, stocked up on enough popcorn (caramel and buttered), hard candy and cool drinks, and headed off into the newly refurbished theatre.
I noticed my son tagging behind as I bellowed through the halls, ordering him to keep up with my pace, eager to find the most central spot in the auditorium. But he continued to slug behind, pausing at regular intervals to sip his iced tea and seize a popcorn kernel with his tongue.
After an eventful five minutes of trying to adjust my overflowing lard into the seat, I noticed my son withholding his distance as he seated himself two chairs away.
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with your ‘old’ man?” I questioned him, hoping to reassure myself that this was not the case.
He remained silent, as I noticed his eyes locking onto the giant screen before him; his devious grin confirmed my suspicions.
I was surprised to observe an almost empty theatre last night; it seems the movie culture has not yet caught on with the locals, or that there absence was due to the carnival preparations which were programmed to start this weekend. After an intense ninety minutes of witch-hunts and sacrilegious cursing, the modern adaptation of Hansel and Gretel proved to be a riveting piece of work; fast-paced special effects and a house of candy that fulfils every fat person’s desires.
But our “father-son” evening did not turn out to be a series of dodging corners in the entertainment complex; even though it seemed at times to be exactly that. There were wonderful moments of mutual bonding as we worked our way through the crowds, sharing jokes and laughing at our own childish pranks. At my son’s request, we completed the evening with a visit to the McDonalds Drive Thru, casually submitting to a soirée of junk food and milkshakes.
Passed out on the couch, I was woken up by the sound of jingling keys as my wife arrived home; her eminent smile provided ample evidence of a wonderful night out with friends.
My extraordinary sense of smell followed a buffet of Chinese takeaways resting on the kitchen counter. And in accordance with all unethical beliefs, I surrendered to a midnight snack of egg-fried rice and sweet-and-sour pork.
When I woke up this morning, I was greeted by a new cloud of adversity lingering directly above. The news was announcing that Cyprus had surrendered to an unforgivable bailout plan with an unjustifiable list of requirements. Turmoil ensued as multiple crowds of people drove to the nearest cash points, attempting to withdraw their hard-earned cash.
Sadly, the thought of immigration has once again knocked on my window. I am standing at a crossroad searching for Utopia.
Weight for me tomorrow. Paul
Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts. For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com
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