One of the things I love about my husband is that he is a guy’s guy who is as comfortable in the kitchen as he is watching his beloved Cleveland Browns.
He’s equally eclectic and open-minded when it comes to film and television—he watches serious dramas like House of Cards, The Americans, and Mad Men, but he also indulges in sitcoms like The Big Bang Theory. He transcends the stereotype that men only watch films and television shows that involve explosions. Or Adam Sandler.
And yet there are times . . . oh, there are times.
One of the longest nights of my life involved watching Hot Tub Time Machine at the movie theatre with my husband. Five minutes into the movie, I started to seriously wonder if I could make myself fall asleep through sheer force of will. Because I HATED Hot Tub Time Machine. But I couldn’t leave, since my ride home was sitting next to me.
And he loved the movie.
I looked at my husband in the dark theatre, the light of that awful film flickering on his delighted face, and thought to myself: “Who the hell are you? And more importantly, should we even be married? How can I be with someone who considers this film good? Or even watchable?”
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m no snob. I can watch “guy movies” with the best of them. I love car films. Action sagas. Disaster movies. But Hot Tub Time Machine was an offense to anyone who appreciates film. Or money. Or time. Those are two hours I will never get back.
I tell anyone who is willing to listen that Hot Tub Time Machine is the worst movie I’ve ever seen. (That they made Hot Tub Time Machine II should be commonly accepted as one of the signs that the Apocalypse is near—along with plagues of insects, the moon turning into blood, and the number “666” appearing on people’s heads.)
I have made it quite clear to my husband that since we saw this movie, I still consider him a very intelligent person. But realizing how much he liked that movie has tainted my formerly high opinion of him. It’s like he’s lost that new car smell.
There’s always room to add insult to injury, however.
One day my husband and I were waiting for an elevator at a hotel in San Francisco. The doors slid open and there stood Craig Robinson, former cast member of The Office, and—you guessed it—one of the stars of Hot Tub Time Machine.
My husband recognized him immediately. His face lit up. “Hey! You’re Darryl from The Office!” (By the way, I loved Craig Robinson in that show.)
Craig Robinson was quite gracious, going out of his way to smile at the two fans standing star-struck in front of him.
“We also saw Hot Tub Time Machine,” my husband told him. “I loved it!“
I smiled at my husband, and then at Craig—happy to play the hypocrite—while inside, I prayed: “Please God, don’t let him say it. Don’t let him say it.”
My prayers went unanswered. My husband gestured at me with a grin. “She hated it.”
Needless to say, we took the stairs.
A different version of this piece was originally published on Jennifer’s blog, JenniferAmmoscato.com. Reprinted by the author with permission In the Powder Room, a division of Hold My Purse Productions, LLC. Featured image from Hot Tub Time Machine via Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM).