My friend Vivian just called to chat. “What are you doing tonight?” I asked her.
“We’re going to see No Strings Attached with Natalie Portman,” said Vivian. “I can’t wait!”
I can’t wait, either – to hear her husband’s reaction, that is. This man, a lovely charmer, counts fishing in the Florida Keys – luring beasts that weigh 75 pounds and over – as a way of getting away from it all – “it all” being his high-powered job as a psychiatrist.
Call me crazy, but I don’t think this is the kind of man who wants to see Natalie Portman prancing around pretending to be a doctor and mispronouncing medical terminology while Ashton Kutcher slurps and slobbers all over her. But more than that, I can’t imagine how in this universe Vivian convinced him to go to see this! Himself would NEVER go, trust me. “Sold to you,” he whispers gleefully in darkened theaters when trailers for things like “Sex and the City 2,” or “You’re So Cupid” flutter by.
So I ask. “Vivian, how did you get Steve to agree to go see this?”
“I told him it’s a medical thriller. By the time we get into the theater, what can he do?”
Well done, Vivian. Well done.