We took our favored nephew to see a pixellated movie called Madagascar 3 the other day in the state capital. My wife and the boy, who is 9 now, saw his movie while I watched Dark Shadows starring the androgynous weirdo Johnny Depp.
On coming out of their movie, they asked where Madagascar is, and I surprised my companions by telling them precisely. Do you know where Madagascar is?
Dark Shadows is a waste of time, but at least you get to see that Michelle Pfeiffer is aging well, and the strange Eva Green can chew scenery with the best.
Our nephew had spent the previous night with us, something he’s doing again after about a year’s hiatus because he did not want to sleep alone upstairs in the second bedroom. He wanted company, and so did I.
The only company available was the same person, my wife and his aunt. I prevailed, winning her warm, shapely form, so he quit coming. Sore loser.
But we have reached a compromise. I purchased a fat, portable mattress at CostCo. It gets opened on the floor in our bedroom, and he’s content.
I’m content too — or sufficiently so.
The lad is not much company these days because all he does is sit on the sofa and play games on a cell phone. He sits there hours as if comatose, staring at the little screen.
He does love movie theaters, however, and his uncle showed him the real Madagascar on a world globe here at the Hacienda. He’s a bright boy and handsome.
God knows what the future brings.