icky~yuck~yuck~ptooey

Chalk this up as yet another reason I love these turtleneck sweaters.

Forever the victim of bulk shopping culture, I made a run on these lovely chenille, impossibly soft sweaters last Christmas. When they finally went on final clearance sale (because I can't stomach buying something that is NOT on sale if at all humanly possible), I bought one for each female family member and a few for myself, too (howdidthathappen?).

I knew it would get cold in the theater today, and since my body has been struggling to be able to stay warm lately, I decided to wear one of my exactly-the-same-except-for-the-color sweaters on my date night to the movies (well, date" late afternoon" is a more accurate term: we went to the early show with the rest of the geriatrics, in order to be able to pay the el cheapo "twilight price" of $5.50) with my beloved husband. I wore the purple turtleneck sweater, actually, since it matters.

And thank goodness that the material is stretchy, because the turtle part of the turtleneck was up over my face up to my eyes for about two hours. Just long enough to make it through the wretched catastrophe of a movie, "Snakes on a Plane".

OK, I should have known better.

SNAKES. ON. A. PLANE. ~ It's not like I wasn't amply warned.

It's not Shyamalan or Spielberg or Bruckhemier or even Ed Wood. It's formulaic scary thriller movie meets pointlessly sickenning, gratutitously gruesome yuck fest.

Yeah, I didn't care for it too terribly much.

This lovely little psycho serpent film did not make for fantabulous date night entertainment for Lachen and Copper. Although Copper did manage to work himself into a giggly fit watching me squirm, squeal, and try to carve myself into the cushions of my seat or into his seat with him, out of sheer discomfort and desire to avoid etching graphic scenes of angry venomous snakes attacking people in my mind forever. Ooooh, this movie was an amplified experiment in icky~yuck~yuck~ptooey for our friendly neighborhood blogger.

And though I have no one to blame but myself for this voluntary venture into this cinematic catastrophe, images of snakes are haunting me now. It has been now 9.25 hours since the movie ended and I have been yet unable to take this turtleneck off. I dont know why. Possibly, I am even planning to sleep with it on tonight. To ward off psycho snakes~on~airplane dreams. But I think I just might need more than chenille sweater therapy after two hours of the raunchy reptilian torture test today.

I love this turtleneck sweater. Love it.