Dear Mr. and Mrs. Smith

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Smith,

I know you are not married and that you were on your first date ever but since I never was gracious enough to get your real names, I have decided to call you Mr. and Mrs. Smith. You see, one of my favorite things to do is go to the movies. I love the smell of popcorn, the oversized seets and screen, the previews and graphic that plays before the movie that reminds you how loud they can turn up the volume if the want to. I love it all. What I don't love is when you talk during the movie. In fact, nothing brings me more fury. I felt bad for the two of you. It was obviously your first (maybe second) date. I could tell by how much Mrs. Smith draped her self all over you, Mr. Smith. It made me want to wretch. If you wanted to put your legs up on his lap, why come to the theater? why not just stay home and get a pay-per-view? And Mr. Smith, your laugh wasn't fooling anyone. We all knew it was fake. I mean the movie was funny...but it wasn't THAT funny! You should never be an actor. And Mrs. Smith, we all saw the poster that said "Paper Cuts Hurt, Work Safely," there was no need for you to explain it in your outside voice. I gave you all the signs that you were driving me crazy...but alas the first date effect had blinded you and somehow you forgot that you were in a room with 50 other people watching a movie, in public, that each one of us payed $15 to come and see. And when I bought my ticket, I did not ask for the showing that had the Bonus Feature Commentary playing by the two of you because I would never order that because you guys suck. But alas, I never said anything because I didn't want to embarras you in front of the other one. But I really hated you the whole time and you ruined my evening out.

Suck a fat one,
Ali