The boy sitting behind us spent most of the movie kicking the back of my seat and scattering popcorn into my hair.
Every time I politely asked his parents to do something, they reacted as though I were the problem.
So instead of complaining to them one more time, my husband chose a different approach.
PART 1
My husband and I had been trying for months to have one completely normal evening together.
Nothing fancy.
Nothing expensive.
We just wanted to watch the new Spider-Man movie.
That was it.
Our schedules finally lined up, so we booked the 8:30 showing.
A family sat directly behind us.
A mother.
A father.
And a boy who looked about eight or nine.
The previews hadn’t even finished when I felt something push against the back of my chair.
Then again.
And again.
I turned around.
The boy’s sneakers were practically level with my head.
“Excuse me,” I said politely. “Could you ask him to keep his feet down? They’re pushing against my seat.”
The mother rolled her eyes.
The father sighed like I had interrupted something extremely important.
“Ethan. Feet down.”
The boy lowered them.
For about three minutes.
Then the movie started.
And so did the popcorn.
Ethan laughed at almost everything.
Whenever he laughed, he grabbed a huge handful of popcorn and tossed it toward his mouth.
A lot of it never made it.
Some landed on the floor.
The rest came flying over the back of my seat.
At first, a few pieces hit my shoulder.
Then one disappeared directly into my hair.
I have thick curls.
Popcorn doesn’t simply fall out of hair like mine.
It gets comfortable.
My husband, Marcus, reached over, carefully pulled out one buttery piece, and whispered, “You’ve got popcorn in your hair.”
“I know.”
Less than a minute later, another handful came sailing forward.
I turned around again.
“Could you please be a little more careful with the popcorn? It keeps landing on me.”
The father barely looked up.
“He’s not throwing it. He’s eating.”
“He’s missing his mouth by about three feet.”
The mother finally looked at me.
“He’s a kid,” she snapped.
