My son and I went out for dinner and a horror flick last week. I guess I embarrassed him at the hibachi restaurant because I asked the server if we could order right away, rather than being forced to wait for the badly-dressed family “sitting” at our hibachi table to stop wandering through the restaurant while talking on their phones.

Who came up with these hibachi rules?

We got to the movie theater TOO early, a fact that he was quick to point out with the appropriate amount of dripping contempt for my earlier behavior. We got in line for snacks, and the rest of this post is about my humor breakdown. You know, when something strikes you as so funny, you just lose it, but no one else sees the humor.

Me (to young counter person): Small popcorn, a diet Coke, and Raisinets.

CP (gestures to shelf in back of me, filled with gummy candy): We don’t have Raisinets, just what’s on that shelf.

Me (scanning shelf): No chocolate at all?

CP: Just what’s on that shelf.

Me (points to Raisinets under counter glass): What about those?

CP: Those are just display.

Me: (Staring at them) You mean I can’t have them?

CP: I don’t think so.

Me: Why?

Son: Mom, stop.

Supervisor (walks up, overhears conversation): Oh, ma’am, those are like ten years old.

Me: (the laughter begins, because I’m starting to think of Seinfeld episode embedded below): I don’t care.

Supervisor: (Walking away sounding jaded, but she’s too young to be jaded, and this makes me laugh even harder) They’re probably the consistency of dust.

The humor of the situation really getting to me now, laughing hard, my son and people behind us getting annoyed.

Me: Can I please have them? I’ll take my chances.

CP: (looks down at glass counter) I don’t even know how to open it.

Me: (I’m laughing really hard now) Let’s crack it open, I have a multi-purpose tool in my purse.

Son: Why do you have that?

People behind us: (Making impatient snuffing sounds)

Me laughing harder, tears rolling down my face, my son finally breaking out in laughter, just from my amusement.

People behind us: Lady, you can’t have them. Move on with your life.

CP: (wishing he were dead, or better yet, that I was) Look, I’m sorry. It’s only my second day.

Can’t breathe now. Laughing as he hands us our snacks, laughing as I grab straws and napkins, laughing as I turn the wrong way towards the wrong theater, laughing as we enter the empty theater a half hour early.

Son: Gee, I’m glad you harassed that waitress at hibachi, so we could get here to an ice-cold movie theater a half hour early to do nothing.

Me: (Still laughing, walking towards good seats)

Son: Those aren’t our seats.

Me: Who cares?

Son: These are handicapped seats.

Me: No, they’re not (laughing through every syllable).

Son: Yes, they are. We’re up further.

Me: But I don’t have my glasses.

Son: (Considers) Fine, let’s see what happens, but we might be asked to move.

Me: (Laughing, laughing, laughing)

Son: Mother, calm down.

Me: I’m trying….

People begin filtering in, looking askance at me because I’m still laughing really hard….

At the end of the movie, as we filter out, I notice that our seats WERE handicapped accessible. Feeling shame, I look at my son.

Me: Now might be a good time to pretend to be handicapped.

Son: Is it gonna be me or you?

Me: (Laughter starts all over again)

(People staring at me oddly as they walk down the aisle).

Son: You. Definitely you.