A Lesson

If you take me to a romantic comedy (that isn't particularly clever, just run of the mill):
Do NOT expect me to cry.*
DO expect me to laugh. At all the wrong times.
Do NOT expect me to cheer for the bad boy/girl turned good boy/girl. I'm holding a grudge.
DO expect me to roll my eyes dramatically when anyone makes a noise that sounds remotely like speaking out loud during the movie.
Do NOT expect me to join in with any post-movie applause. Who are you clapping for? No one here is in this movie. Stop.
DO expect to share your Twizzlers. And by that I mean OUR Twizzlers.
DO expect to be made fun of gently for your choice of movie.
Do NOT try to retort by saying "Well, you're really excited for that dumb Lincoln movie." Daniel Day Lewis is awesome, I'm not going to apologize for that.

A loves rom-coms. As in, our Netflix On Demand is constantly polluted with the fruits of this obsession.

*I might cry, of course. But it's probably because I just decided I'd like a good cry and the movie is an excuse. I cried during the Little League World Series last night because a 13 year old sobbed about being taken off the mound. They're so small!