Maybe it was the banana split. Maybe it was the night out on the town—if you can call going to the movies a night out on the town. I chose “Cars 3” because the first Cars movie was fun and. I absolutely love driving.
Maybe it was the banana split. Maybe it was the night out on the town—if you can call going to the movies a night out on the town. I chose “Cars 3” because the first Cars movie was fun and. I absolutely love driving.
The banana split started the night out right. I don’t remember if there was a cherry; I don’t remember if there were nuts but when I pushed the piled high whipped cream aside, I saw three mounds of ice cream with no. I squinted. Where was the chocolate syrup? The strawberry and caramel syrups? I called the server over. “Please. Drown it in syrups.” He obliged and the split was perfecto!
Off to the movies. I made good time to the Edwards Cinema in Rancho San Diego. The evening was as it should be—end-of-day light, with cool breezes after a hot day of temps in the nineties. I passed on my usual movie treats, popcorn and lemonade, due to my overly full—but happy—stomach.
In the theater I found a seat high enough and in the middle enough to see the screen without having to look up or down or sideways. I wiggled myself between the soft arms of the seat and prepared myself for multiple screaming previews of horrors to come. Surprise! All the previews were of animated films, much more endurable than the usual fare of violence, bloodshed and space machines battling monster robots.
“Cars 3” got off to a less than racing start, but I was patient, letting the banana split settle while the story line was setting up. Sitting by myself in a scantily-filled theater, I reached forward, pushed down the arms of the empty seat in front of me and made footstools for each of my feet. Ahhh… I admit it wasn’t like me to spread out like this, but I’ve often seen others do it, so I guessed it was legal. It sure enough was comfy and my enjoyment increased as the movie picked up in plot and colorful cartoon cars zoomed around oval racetracks.
In his last chance for redemption the aging race-car driver was trying so, so hard to regain enough speed to pass the uppity newcomer with the high-tech car and win the race. I was with him through every curve! Halfway through, he realized he was never going to make it. But—what if?
He made a decision. In the pit he turned his car over to the sponsor’s trainer, a wannabe race car driver who’d been rejected because of her gender. Boy! Was I rooting for her as she roared out of that pit. She was making headway; gaining speed; dodging obstacles and poised to pass the Number One car when—oh, no—she’s dropping back. She’s losing confidence, she’s falling more and more behind.
Seeing this, the legendary almost-retiring driver spoke the magic words through her headphones. You know how those cartoon cars look, right? Picture this. Her sweet rubbery smile flattened into a steely grim line; her round innocent eyes with the big brown irises crashed together with a look of focus you’ve never seen before.
I busted out laughing! I was right there with her! We’re gonna do this! Squealing tires and maneuvering through those cars with her engines roaring, she did it! She beat that uppity new guy, no sweat! I laughed like I haven’t laughed in years.
All these years I thought I was this happy, smiling person and I am—but a smile is nothing compared to a good spontaneous belly laugh.
Here’s to laughter: it feels so good!
