My Husband, the Robot

I married a machine. By that I mean he's immune to the magic of Hollywood. Where others crumble into sniffling piles of snot tears, he is completely devoid of emotive responses. He laughs in comedies, he can do funny all day long, but crying? Forget about it.

We love movies, but have different ways of looking at them. My husband is cut and dry, black and white, and stoic (the man is German through and through). He doesn't like to talk things through, but listens well. And by "listens," I'm pretty sure he stares at me talk while going through game codes in his head.

I've learned to love and appreciate our differences, except for when we watch movies. He ruins the movie experience for me. We were dating when I discovered his emotional apathy in film. We watched The Patriot. Loved it. I cried the ugly cry at least 3 times. My husband sat there with his arm around me like a doting boyfriend should. Then we came to the part when Mel Gibson left his family to go to battle. The little daughter that hasn't uttered a word to him since their mother died began to sob and yelled, "Papa. Don't leave!" I was a goner. My heart broke. My tissues were long spent, so I used the corner of my sleeve to wipe tears and sadly, snot. I looked over at my husband and saw him shaking. A snicker escaped his lips. He turned to me and laughed.

At the time, I thought he was laughing at me. A strange metalic taste entered my mouth. My head felt hot and I saw red. I beat him stupid. When he came to and I asked him to explain his stupidity, he noted his ability to recognize when film makers try to yank an emotional response out of the audience. Cue sappy music, close up on actor's faces, moment of silence triggering in viewers that lump that inevitably leads to tears. My husband, the robot, had a point. I'm far less inclined to cry at little things when I have the cues spelled out to me.

When I sense his apathetic tenor in movies and realize they'll lead to laughter, I give him the "look," if I want to ride the directors emotional train. If he continues down the dark path, I beat him.

For example, we recently saw Avatar. We came to the part where (SPOILERS. STOP READING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW. OR KEEP READING) Jake Sully returned after the humans destroyed the mother tree. He rode the prophetic Last Shadow creature into the crowd, commanding their respect and gave a speech meant to inspire and bring the avatar creatures together. It was quite a speech. I listened with fervor, nodding at every word. "Yes, Jake Sully. I am rallied, Jake Sully. I will follow you anywhere (read: anywhere), Jake Sully. Let's go get the bad guys! Yes! Yes!" My eyes watered and I sensed my husand's Hollywood anti-emotion radar beeping. I glanced at him through my 3D glasses. He was already too far gone. He'd entered the realm that conjures the beast. I can't tell you exactly what happened, but I found him on the floor of the stairwell with my fists clenched.*

On the drive home, I couldn't stop talking about how good the film was. "Everything about that movie was just awesome. The graphics? Beautiful. And did you think the aliens were hot? There was some undeniable attraction there. Were you turned on at all?"

He gave me the, "Uh, you're crazy" look. I'm quite familiar with it.

"Be quiet. You like my craziness. I keep your life interesting. Can you imagine how boring your existence would be without me?"

He nodded. "You are my paprika."

I ran a yellow light and felt his crazy look bore into the side of my face. Typically I drive like a grandmother. "Sorry," I exclaimed. "That movie just has me riled up."

And in a voice that would rival Ben Stein he said, "Let's go stick it the man."

*slight exaggaration. don't call the police. please