Mary Panza at LarkTavernSo much has been going on. I went from being really fat, down a few pounds, to being my normal fat. I have been out or entertaining at least three times a week in the past two weeks. The kicker to all of this is Capri’s latest demand.

Years ago my sister, two of my nieces, Capri and I went to see that 50 shades of crap movie. It sucked. It sucked hard and loud. So, and the years have passed, I thought I would never have to deal with those bullshit books and movies. I was under the impression that hard up middle aged ladies having moved on from bondage to, well, God knows what. I was so wrong. I got a phone call from Capri this week telling me I owe her.

Capri: Listen, this is the year of me. My sisters sent me flowers and told me 50 was my year. Since it is my year, you, you bitch are taking me to see the new 50 shades sequel

Me: Your year? Fuck off. It is my year. You take 51. I’ve had a harder life than you. And no, I am not going to see that piece of shit movie. The first one made me angry, we almost got kicked out of the theater, the guy in front of us was getting a hand job, and I had to explain fisting to my two overeducated nieces. So no, not happening. Ask (our friend) CC.

Capri: Oh, I will and I am taking this year. You declare years for yourself all the time.

Me: Yeah, look where it got me. I have a fat neck, celiac disease, and high cholesterol. I’m taking the year. Besides, I can’t eat movie popcorn because of the cholesterol so I’m not going. CC will go.

Capri: I can’t believe you. Every time someone dies, I send the flowers with BOTH of our names on them. You owe me.

Me: I’ll write you a bad check.

Capri: Fuck that bitch, you are going.

Let me first say that this not remotely the dumbest conversation we have ever had. We have conversations about bowel movements (a good one sets the tone for the day), TV shows, high school, and, sometimes we just call and do funny voices. This has been our whole lives. Perhaps it was the full, super absorbent, blood, blue moon that put the bee in Capri’s bonnet. Perhaps it was my immediate refusal that set her off, whatever, she was set off. The next thing I knew the text was set out to me and CC telling us that we were going to this movie and no was not a choice in the matter. CC responds yes right away. I say no. I tell them both that whatever night they are going I am busy or sick or both.

The phone rings.

Capri: BITCH. YOU ARE GOING TO THIS MOVIE. YOU ARE DRIVING AND YOU ARE GOING TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT THROUGH THE WHOLE THING.

She hangs up.

I love my soul mate Capri. I am not going to this movie. I am not going because instead of eating an extra large tub of butter with popcorn I will be smuggling a crudités in my fucking pocketbook. Not happening. I may never go to the movies again. I am certainly not going to see what happens with these two morons. This ain’t real bondage. This is fancy, thin people getting tied up. I can’t. I got more than enough of that actress’s pasty tits and pouty mouth the first time around. I’m all good. Besides, I can’t have rasinettes either.