As the house lights went down, I leaned over to Mr W and I said, "Am I granted leeway this movie, to drool a little and make animal noises?" (I knew what Hugh Jackman was going to look like, and I also knew that not sighing at the sight of his form was going to be next to impossible.)
He laughed and told me that one of his colleagues had taken his wife to see the same movie recently as well, and had just outright offered his apology to her for not resembling Hugh in any way, shape, or form. "So I'm offering you my apology too," he added, "right now."
"Don't be silly," I told him, giving his arm a little smack, "that's not necessary."
The movie started and Hugh did not disappoint. (I am not exaggerating when I say woooowww.) There is one scene where he's out in the wilderness, in a cabin with his beloved, and he comes out onto the ledge in grey pajama pants and no shirt. I heard it in my brain before I even took it all in: "Thank you, God." I sighed and leaned over to my husband: "I accept your apology."
He didn't respond, but he hates to talk in movies so I figured he more than likely didn't hear me. When we were leaving, heading out to the van, I giggled, and asked him, "Did you hear what I said to you in there?" I was rubbing his back as we walked. "Yeah." He stopped. "Get your hands off me," he joked.
It was all in fun, but nonetheless, I felt a little bad about it.
We got home and everyone scattered. I went into the bathroom, the idea formulating in my head....and I took a picture of my cleavage (only that, nothing too risque) and I sent it to his phone with the message, "Please accept my apology, that my parts are not as perfect as Jenna Jameson's."
I heard him laughing before I clasped my phone shut.
Few of us out there have perfect parts, isn't it nice knowing that somewhere out there, someone thinks they are perfect, only because they're part of you?