Not utterly miserable
Sometime around 1990, my mother and I went to see the touring production of Les Miserables. And my mother hated it. Apparently she thought all musicals were supposed to be all sweetness and light and Rodgers and Hammerstein and so forth, and she didn't seem to have gotten a clue from the name, either. I loved my mother, but she had odd ways of thinking sometimes - sort of a mental block, I guess, that didn't let her change her mind about some things come hell or high water. And apparently this was one of those. The only part she liked was "Master of the House" because it was funny.
I thought of this because I more or less dragged Rob to see the movie today, and I was a little nervous about it. But he liked it. I was relieved. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to react like my mother did, but still. I didn't really think he would utterly hate it, but I didn't really expect him to actively like it, either. He even expressed willingness - unprompted - to go see it again later.
I was going to say more but I'm sleepy. Maybe tomorrow.
I thought of this because I more or less dragged Rob to see the movie today, and I was a little nervous about it. But he liked it. I was relieved. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to react like my mother did, but still. I didn't really think he would utterly hate it, but I didn't really expect him to actively like it, either. He even expressed willingness - unprompted - to go see it again later.
I was going to say more but I'm sleepy. Maybe tomorrow.