(Setting: our living room, as the end credits roll on our six-month-old DVRed copy of JUSTICE LEAGUE, a movie which I have only now finally got around to watching and which my wife has only now finally got around to reading a book during, punctuated by long stretches of looking over the edge of her iPad to stare at Jason Mamoa as Aquaman, a little drool running out of the edge of her mouth.)
ME— Huh. Well, as not great as that movie was, it was not nearly as bad as I expected it to be.
THE WIFE— (grinning) Isn’t there a movie with just Aquaman in it?
ME—Yes. It’s called “Aquaman.” And it is in theaters now.
THE WIFE— (Giggles) I would go see that. (Sly grin.) Maybe they’ll have more scenes of him drinking and stomping around.
ME—(Stunned) You liked that, huh?
THE WIFE—(Beaming) Uh huh!
ME—You are a puzzle I will never solve. When I drink and stomp around you say I’m an alcoholic.
THE WIFE—Yeah, but I have to live with you.
(Cut to the following evening, as we emerge from the local cinemaplex having viewed all 2 hours and 22 minutes of Aquaman.)
THE WIFE— That was a terrible movie
THE WIFE— But Jason Mamoa was pretty.
ME— He was prettier than Amber Heard and her clown wig.