February 25, 2008

mmm, Cinnabon......

I have abstained from the dreaded corporate run pastry monster. Until yesterday. Yesterday we went to Multi-Plaza for our usual Sunday movie and general futzing around. I thought it was odd that the staff at the Cinemark didn't set me off like they usually do. Mysteriously efficient and organized all around - as if they had read my last post and this was their way of gas-lighting me. Then we got to our seats and settled in to see Mi Mascota es un Monstruo. Tom got this weekend's turn at a grown-up movie, he saw The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Seconds after we sat down, it started. Not the movie, the chatter...the crying, the whining, the talking, the screaming, the banging, the obnoxious racket of small children. It's not the noise that surprises me, it's the lack of ANY parental intervention that completely dumbfounds me. It's the same everywhere here. The kids, especially the boys, are shrieking and whining and crying constantly and no one ever, EVER asks them to knock it off. It's like the parents are stone deaf! Say something!! Do something!! The only reaction I ever see is maybe, if they actually acknowledge that the kid is making any noise at all, they turn and giggle indulgently. ARGH!!! "Isn't he a darling?", they'll remark to some other ear-less person at the table. The parents either chalk it all up to "cute" kid behavior or are so afraid that they'll crush the little darling's spirit that they allow these monsters to make anyone else around them miserable. Throughout the movie kids ran up and down the aisles, spoke loudly, kicked the backs of the seats and made listening and keeping up with a movie dubbed in Spanish nearly impossible. We moved twice. The second time we moved because the kid behind us kept singing (it's not a musical), kicking India's seat and sneezing on our necks. The mother gave me the stink eye as we got up to move. Yeah, I'm an evil child-hater 'cause I don't think this stuff is adorable. Anyway, after 90 minutes of sheer torture, we were set free to wander the mall while we waited for Tom. India wanted Cinnabon and, too frazzled to argue, I took her. They smelled good and I figured that maybe the sugar from one of those hideously enormous globs of dough would make me feel better. I expected it to be nasty and sugary and sticky. It was. It was FABULOUS. I apologize for any snide remarks I may have made about Cinnabon in the past. They are divine. Buttery, yummy, gooey, cinnamon-y blobs that make all the bad stuff go away. At least until the rush passes, my blood sugar plunges and once again I can clearly hear the wail of small children.