Someday, I’ll have my revenge! – 5 of 30

My husband has a history of renting movies with gore or terror that I can’t stomach – that, or apocalyptic documentaries about how we’re all going to Hell in a handcart (driven by Dick Cheney, of course). He doesn’t do it all of the time, or most of the time, but every so often, something which seems to be innocuous will pop up in the Netflix queue. And I, dummy that I am, will end up watching it. The apocalyptic ones I can dodge when I decide I can’t stomach them – about every 2^nd movie. The gory ones, though, sneak up on me.

Now, I should have known this was going to happen from the very beginning – a couple of months after we started dating, he made me watch The Cube. I’m not saying The Cube isn’t an interesting movie, but… let’s put it this way. In the first scene, someone gets cut up into tiny meat cubes before the audience’s eyes. It gets worse from there. (And my husband is still in trouble for not following appropriate scared-girlfriend snuggling procedures with that one.) But it’s not just the gore that gets me. Let me just say this out loud right now: I don’t like scary movies.

Can I say that again? I don’t like scary movies. At all.

Ever since I accidentally walked in on my parents watching Alien on HBO when I was 8 (and you know which scene I walked in on – that’s right, the stomach scene), I have hated scary movies. I had fears of that damned alien in my room at night off and on until I was in high school. These movies are not for me. I saw one of the Friday the 13th movies in middle school, and was afraid of the dark for a long while afterwards. Skipping school in the 8^th grade to go see Nightmare on Elm Street? Really bad idea. And after that, I just knew better.

I’m less squeamish now, but there’s a message here: I don’t get off on being scared. Or grossed out. At all. I’m not kidding. Even a little bit.

Knowing this, my husband, bless him, will occasionally pop in a movie like Pitch Black, or tonight’s film, Oldboy. And I end up leaving the room 5 times, or as I did with Pitch Black, going into the kitchen and putting my headphones on and trying to ignore what’s going on in the other room.

Oldboy features tooth and tongue extractions, stabbings, and beatings among other things. I mean, the film has a neat concept (and a very disturbing ending), but… step back. Tooth and tongue extractions, kids. Nasty. No way of knowing this upfront, mind you. And halfway through the movie, bam… there I am, covering my eyes and leaving the room. Remember that bit about not liking to be scared or grossed out? I think this qualifies. Next thing you know, there’ll be another documentary in the queue which sends me to bed weeping and despairing of the fact that I am American/Caucasian/a Westerner/a human being who does not live in a log cabin in the mountains miles from civilization.

So the man can’t be trusted. Clearly, one weekend soon, I’m going to have to make him watch Pride and Prejudice (both the A&E and the big screen versions), Sense and Sensibility, Chocolat, The Truth about Cats and Dogs, and any other girlie movie I can get my hands on. Some extremely sappy fare would be appropriate, if I can find it. The more kissing, the better. And afterwards I’ll make him watch MST3K, which is particularly painful for those with no American cultural background. And then, well…

Someday I’ll get my revenge!

In the meantime, I suggest a new addition to the ratings system: Rated WSTELCOOK (Will scare the ever-living crap out of Krista). I’m sure the MPAA will go for it.