Hi. I’m an addict. A Les Miserables addict. From the moment I saw the trailer for the movie, I started playing Les Mis songs to Ruth every day. And then I’d cry and she’d comfort me by bringing over my shoes. That’s her way of showing love: bringing you your shoes. I wish she’d bring over chocolate chip cookies, but I’ll take what I can get.

So since my mom also cries at the soundtrack, we made plans to see it over Christmas break. She admitted that she actually didn’t want to see it with anyone except herself, but my sister and I still forced her because that’s how we are. No bringing shoes from us, apparently.

Ryan took a photo to commemorate the occasion. This is mom’s stressed smile, but at least now i understand why she wanted to be alone. That’s a big bone.

We met up with Amy at the theatre. She had arrived a little bit earlier and knew it was us because the car door opened and I jumped out before the car stopped. I get excited. Sue me.

We bought our tickets and I asked the guy in the ticket line to please take our photo. He looked up and was literally half-blind with cataracts or something.

So I immediately launched into how actually I really need to go to the bathroom and man, that line for the popcorn is so long, maybe we don’t have time for a picture because HOLY COW is that someone sneaking in?!? Look!

And then we ran through. Ugh, I hate myself.

I’m glad we got there so early though, because the theatre was packed.

Mom analyzed all of the seats and decided this was the best one. The only thing we didn’t do was stake an American flag into the cushion.

Finally we settled in. The matriarch and her servants. Mom was still nervous with anticipation… and because we took the dog bone away.
As we’ve discussed before, all of us Wewers have some sort of type-a in our blood. The level of it depends on who is around us. If it’s just me and Ryan, then look out folks, I can go overboard. However, if another sibling is in the room, I can relax a bit because I know they’ll take care of business.

Someone’s gotta take care of business and I get tired of that someone always getting a bad rap. Those that float along can only do so because the type-a’s pave the way. Right? RIGHT?

Cough.

But it is nice to float, I have to admit, and I can do so with my family. So it made me chuckle when my mom asked me if the angle from my seat was satisfactory.
Uh, yeah. Pretty sure I can see the screen.

But she wasn’t convinced. So we moved further inland, bringing our imaginary flag with us.

And I marveled at my new angle.

If we hadn’t moved, I’m sure I would’ve hated the movie.

But I didn’t. I’ve already seen it four times. It is fantastic, and can I whisper this without being lynched? I like it better than the stage production.

Please see it. Please. Your husband will like it too, I dare ya to try. At the very least, you’ll be happy that you’re not watching it with a type-a person. Go float to the theatres, people. Now!