I was not a happy camper this weekend.
Not only did I have a houseful of teenage boys for the better part of the last two days (The Young One was playing host to a couple of his friends and I was up to my elbows in homemade pizza and monkey bread), the hormones my doctor prescribed for my menopause symptoms were, to put it mildly, a miserable failure. Not only was TOM over a week late, I was bloated to roughly the size and shape of the Goodyear blimp. While I appear to be on the downside of it now – I woke up in something that resembled a good mood, my rings were loose again and I didn’t need to oil up my ass to get my pants on – to say I was less than pleasant this weekend would be an understatement of some magnitude.
Don’t get me wrong – I tried very hard not to dismember anyone, and because I didn’t want The Young One’s friends to think his mother was channeling Joan Crawford, I managed to refrain from any beatings with wire coat hangers. So, I was merely grumpy, and poor Beloved bore the brunt of that. He almost always does, and he deals with it exceedingly well. Of course, he knows me exceedingly well, and for the most part just stays out of my way, while occasionally asking, “Is there anything I can do to help, dear?” And when he just can’t bear my grumping around the house any longer, he pulls out the Sure Fire Cure for My Bad Mood.
I love this film. I love Pixar movies anyway, and this one is by far their best (WALL*E is a close second). I tender my sincere apologies to any die-hard Toy Story or Finding Nemo fans, but as much as I like those two movies (and Monsters, Inc. and Cars and Toy Story 2 and Ratatouille) I don’t think any of the other films can quite match The Incredibles – it never fails to make me laugh, cry and cheer. The writing and voice acting is inspired, and the character of Edna Mode alone makes the movie worth watching; Wally Shawn as the downtrodden Mr. Incredible’s boss at InsuraCare is another gem of a performance. The movie is also smart and perceptive, taking not-so-subtle jabs at our affinity for frivolous lawsuits, suburban conformity and increasing need to celebrate everyone as “special,” regardless of an individual’s talents or abilities.
Every time I watch this film, I end up scouring the internet, searching for some bit of news heralding a sequel, and I am always disappointed – with the exception of Toy Story, Pixar has yet to make a sequel to one of its films, although there is apparently a Cars 2 in the works (which puzzles me, frankly – Cars is the least of Pixar’s offerings to date). So, I content myself with snuggling on the sofa with a cup of hot chocolate when I’m feeling out-of-sorts and watching this wonderful film. It always turns the trick.
What’s your sure fire cure for the blues, menopausal or otherwise?