Last week while we were on my annual Florida idyll, my friend M. and I hit the movie theater several times. Neither one of us every goes to the movies at home, citing lack of time. Generally I'm happy to wait for the DVD release so I can curl up on the couch and watch the film in my jammies. But when you're faced with six lovely days to fill, we figured we had time to spend catching up on the shows. After all, there's only so much Florida sunshine a girl can take, right?
We went to three films, at three different cineplex. There are some very nice movie theaters in Naples, particularly The Silver Spot, where you choose your own seat when you purchase the ticket, a huge brown leather armchair complete with cupholder and footrest.
Tickets are a little pricey in Naples, as is most everything else in this resort town which caters to older, wealthy Floridians. Matinee tickets range from $7.50 to $10.50, which seems like a lot to me, since I remember going to lots of $2.50 movies back here in "the D." Of course, that was in the olden days, when I was young.
My friend is a bona fide senior citizen, although she hardly looks or acts the part of a mid-septagenarian. But she happily asks for the senior ticket at the box office, although it doesn't buy her much of a discount in Naples where the richest people actually are the senior citizens.
Usually I buy the regular adult ticket. I'm still seven years (and one day) away from the official, government sanctioned version of the designation. So I'm always my usual kosher self, and play by the rules.
The other day though, I tried an experiment, although I was immediately sorry about it.
We were at the Regal Cinemas to see The Adjustment Bureau. It was a cloudy Sunday afternoon, so lots of people had turned out to see the latest Matt Damon release. Tickets here were relatively cheap - $7.50 for seniors, and $8.50 for adults. I stood in line behind M., who purchased her $7.50 senior ticket and walked into the theater ahead of me.
I walked up to the ticket window and requested "One, for The Adjustment Bureau."
"That will be "$7.50," he told me, barely glancing at me as he pushed my paper ticket under the window ledge of the box office.
He gave me the senior ticket without asking.
He took one look at me and just gave me the senior ticket.
I'm wasn't really surprised. I feel tired and old lately, so I'm sure I look it, too. I had done my hair that day, although the still breeze that's always blowing off the Gulf continues to wreak havoc with my thick wavy locks. I was wearing makeup, and dressed decently. I know I shouldn't care whether a teenager thinks I'm old enough to be his grandmother - which I am NOT, by the way.
But still. S*#!.
Tomorrow is my birthday, and until the last five years, I've never minded being another year older. Of course as a kid, I couldn't wait for it - wanted to grow up and be an adult just as fast as I possibly could. And most of the time, being an adult is just fine and dandy. But sometimes, I'd prefer not to be quite so much of one.
I might like to hold onto my "youth" for just a while longer, even if it costs me an extra dollar at the movies.