(Prada Mama's NOTE: Troy, my birthday boy, celebrated his third birthday with a "Spiderman 2" movie party. At the tender young age of three, Troy is already a veteran of several movies, with quite an impressive attention span. I wrote the following article after taking him and Lance to see "The Cat in the Hat" last December, an outing which would eventually end in infamy. Seven months may not be enough for the statute of limitations to be up, but I'm spilling the beans anyway, in this, the fourth in my REUSE, REHASH, RECYCLE series, aptly entitled...)


MOVIES AND MISDEMEANORS

After a very long drought, Lorenzo and I finally went to the movies again!

Earlier tonight, with Lance and Troy in tow, we went to catch a matinee showing of "The Cat in the Hat". It was a cute movie. Quite frankly, I was more impressed with its visual appeal than its story, but since it's obviously geared toward the Dr. Seuss set, one should not expect sophisticated repartee.

When the film ended, we all filed out of the theater. I still had visions of sugarplums dancing in my head, after being besieged by a massive whimsy overdose, as only Hollywood can dish out. I felt like taking my kids to a diner. I wanted to extend their viewing experience, and a genuine 50's diner would best approximate the look and feel of "the Cat in the Hat" movie. My husband, on the other hand, had other plans. Lorenzo's quick, resourceful eyes scanned the red carpeted horizon, quickly spotting what he was looking for: another marquee bearing the words: "The Last Samurai, 7:30 PM".

I glanced at my watch. I was 7:10. We had more than enough time to purchase tickets and buy more food. As it was already past the 6 PM matinee deadline, we now had to pay regular price: $8.25 per person. I was about to ask Lorenzo if kids got a price cut when I saw him stroll, oh so casually, into the empty theater. Only then did my husband's diabolical plan dawn upon me.

I must confess that I am so blissfully gauche (translated "ignorantly dense") when it comes to these matters, I wouldn't recognize temptation if it were staring me right in the face! My massive dose of whimsy congealed into a massive dose of scruples. But since my husband was already deep in the belly of the beast, all I could do was glance innocently around, surreptitiously checking if the coast was clear. Sure enough, there was no one in sight.

I still hung back for a moment or two, entertaining my misgivings. Lance and Troy, who of course had no idea that a misdemeanor was in progress, were noisily chattering away. This snapped me back into attention. They were blowing our cover! I quickly shushed and hushed them, herding my pint-sized co-conspirators into the back row.

By this time it was about 7:15. Fifteen minutes to go before the lights were dimmed. I sat in my seat, cowering. I just KNEW we were going to get caught! Any minute now and we'll be seeing uniformed ushers, pulled by baying hounds, pointing their flashlights at us, bearing bullhorns blaring "LICENSE AND REGISTRATION PLEASE!!!"

Lorenzo, quite frankly, was no help. He seemed to take some perverse form of pleasure in scaring me even more. Everytime someone would enter the theater, he would whisper, "ayan na sila, ayan na sila!" ("they're coming, they're coming!"). I, of course, would keep my eyes guiltily averted, expecting the humiliation, cursing myself for not listening to my conscience. Then these phantom ushers would walk right past my field of vision, thankfully ignoring us. When I looked closely, I discovered them to be other movie-goers just like us, choosing plum viewing spots before the film started.

My initial fears were beginning to subside. The adrenaline was starting to ebb from my veins, to be replaced by the unmistakeable pang of hunger. To make things worse, my pregnant bladder was hearing the siren calls emitting from the ladies' bathroom, which of course had to be located in full view of the concession stand! There was no other recourse. I had to go back out there.

The previews were coming up. I still had time. I took everybody's order: more hotdogs, nachos, and Lorenzo's request: M&M's, which my children knew as "magic". I smiled at this. In my younger days, my version of "magic" was a stick of Juicy Fruit gum, "magically" conjured out of my Lolo's adept fingers.

I took off my jacket, hoping it would be harder to recognize me without it. I also took a different credit card and ID. Obviously, there was still a possibility we could get caught, and I wasn't about to take any chances. Still trying to muster up enough courage, I took a casual inventory of our popcorn stores. More than two-thirds full. We were still good in that department. The soda situation, on the other hand, was dire. Our huge cup runneth empty. This realization filled me with a strange audacity...I was ready. I would not only march bravely up to the counter, I resolved to ask for a REFILL besides.

On the way out, I fingered my "Cat in the Hat" tickets, meaning to wave them vaguely in front of any usher who dared block my way. To my surprise, I discovered FOUR tickets instead of three. Those creeps actually had the nerve to charge me full matinee price for Troy! Since he was only 2, he should've gotten in for free. Righteous indignation coursed through my veins. That was it. This is war. They charged my baby for admission. They deserved to be duped!

Never underestimate the power of rationalization. Fueled by self-rightousness, I sailed from the ladies' room to the concession stand, brazenly parking myself in full view of the box office. I took my time ordering, strolled leisurely to the condiment station, languidly added ketchup, mustard and relish to my hotdogs, and asked for my free refill. The food filled up a huge, ungainly tray. The guy behind the counter took one look and offered to help me with my purchases. I thanked him, thinking "that's right, it's the LEAST you could do for preying on helpless, innocent consumers like us!"

I marched back to my family in triumph, followed by my unwitting accomplice, whose very presence in my wake made him an accessory to our crime. I'm pretty sure the last thing Lorenzo expected to see was a uniformed usher following me, BEARING OUR FOOD. What a perfectly apropos way to symbolize our beating the establishment!

Still, in retrospect, I realize that movie theaters, like casinos, always come out on top. With the cost of tickets and two trips to the concession stand, our little caper ended up setting us $70 behind, the price of a five-star meal for a young family of four. In time, the same movie/DVD would've probably gone on sale for $9.99 in Target.

We had won the battle, but lost the war.