I’m a Star Wars widow

Yep, that’s right. J.P. is out watching the latest installment of Star Wars with a friend. Oh, I’ll get my turn tomorrow when we go with our neighbors. Of course, the neighbors won’t know that he’s already seen it. He’s pulled me into his little lie, although he promises to tell them afterward.

This isn’t the first time that Star Wars has encroached on our life. It was three years ago that Attack of the Clones was released. My mom was in town, and I encouraged him to go out with a friend and see it. He went, even though it was the night before my mastectomy*.

Not even major surgery could save me from having to see Clones. I think I saw it with him a few weeks after that. What do you suppose would have to happen for me to get out of Sith? Quick—there isn’t much time—we’re going to a matinee!

*Please note that I encouraged J.P. to go see the movie (he still feels kind of bad about having gone). Not just because he loves it, but because what else would we do the night before surgery? Sit around getting all depressed?

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