Now that we can totally utilize the whole instant viewing option on Netflix, we decided to browse through the family movies that were available. Patrick and I wanted to watch something different (something, ANYthing, different!) so when Batman Returns popped up, we happily pressed play.
The questions were relentless:
"Who's that guy? Batman?!? Why does he look different? Michael Keaton? Who's that?"
And on and on. They liked the movie, though. I had forgotten how much better the Michael Keaton Batman movies were. I mean, they're still dark and action-packed but the entire feeling of the movie is reminiscent of the comic books. The characters don't take themselves too seriously and the villains are just that: VILLAINS. Complete with the evil laughs and hand-rubbing. The heroes are obvious and, well, heroic. Christian Bale's Batman is just too... grumpy.
(The point is just around the corner. Bear with me.)
Soooo, Michelle Pfieffer stumbles into her apartment. She's not Catwoman yet, so she's a bit bumbling and is wearing some unfortunate 1992 glasses. She presses a button on a little black box on a table and it starts talking to her, and my kids say....
I paused. I blinked. My face broke into a horrified smile and Patrick and I stared across the room as our ages were confirmed by these two small words.
For when your kids have NO CLUE as to what an answering machine is and you remember when they were INVENTED? You are officially middle-aged.
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