Settling In To Watch Pulp Fiction … And Then God Stepped In

There are only four movies left on my Must See list.

That's right. I'm awesome.

A twenty movie title list has been whittled down to four: Pulp Fiction, Amelie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and Thelma and Louise.

For a few weeks I believed that I may have gotten myself out of watching Pulp Fiction. I'd share the story with you, but it's a long story and I come off looking bad. And excessively whiny … mainly because I was excessively whiny about not wanting to watch Pulp Fiction.

Excessively whining has been my go to method of getting out of something recently.

And by recently, I mean since 1982.

Then my husband stepped in and told me to man up and watch Pulp Fiction. He pointed out that I had freely and willingly agreed to watch every movie on my list.

Every. Movie.

Including Pulp Fiction.

Poo.

I reluctantly agreed to watch it if he'd let me watch it my way, Silence of the Lambs style.

Which is to say with a Snuggie thrown over my head while humming Kumbaya and wishing I was watching an Adam Sandler movie.

After rolling his eyes (yes he does that and yes he denies it), my husband put the disc in the DVD player and nothing happened. The borrowed disc wouldn't play. Nothing we tried would make the movie play.

I like to refer to it was when God stepped in and saved me from watching a Quentin Tarantino flick.

God knows all about my natural aversion to Quentin. He knows that I've never lasted more than seven minutes watching Reservoir Dogs or Kill Bill (both volumes).

And I think when God steps in to mess with your Movie List you'd best listen and not watch Pulp Fiction. My husband thinks you just borrow a different copy.

We'll see who wins this one.


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