I love my parents, and I hold them both in the highest regard...but every now and again, I just have to make fun of them. It's my way of dealing with the fact that I'm so much like them in so many ways. Today, it's Dad's turn.
We went to see Indiana Jones last night. The theater was as full as I've seen it. There was white hair everywhere. The smell of cough drops, orthopedic shoes, and hearing aids filled the theater. The movie started, and it wasn't very long before I started getting agitated. Why? Because none of the old people in that theater knew how to whisper. I don't know if it's cause they know their dear friend will not hear them if they talk too quietly, if their voice box cannot handle the strain of a whisper, or if they just feel as though they've earned the right to talk at full volume. Every funny line, every jump scene, and randomly throughout the film, I was a part of their delightful conversations. I asked Sarah if old people knew what whispering was. She politely pointed out that my dad doesn't know what it is, so I have to give everyone else a break. Touché. My dad's idea of whispering is talking at full volume out of the side of his mouth. Sometimes he puts his hand up, sometimes he doesn't. It doesn't really matter, though, because his "whisper" is probably louder than your outdoor voice.
No comments:
Post a Comment