Me:  Egads!  Like it wasn’t bad enough that we’re known for potatoes, now we’re known for the likes of Napolean Dynamite.  I traveled all the way to Denmark and that’s all a guy could say, ‘Idaho – isn’t that where Napolean Dynamite is from?’  Sigh.

Mags:  Yeah, well we’re known as the land of balloon boy.

Hay:  I’ve got you all beat – Forks. 

Who knew she lived so close to Forks?  Certainly not I.  And apparently, the only thing worse than hordes of Twilight fans mid-pilgrimage, is having to take your husband to a doctor in Forks to have a hook removed from his calf.  My cousin, being a nurse, would have rather gone elsewhere; but seeing how her husband’s ankle was numb, it was a bit of an emergency. 

The doctor came in, took a look, and applied a local anesthetic.  The nurse asked what tool he wanted.  He glanced over at her display of carefully organized, STERILE instruments.  No … actually … I want some pliers.  Oh, you read it right.  The poor nurse stared blankly for a moment before mumbling, Okay, I’ll check with maintenance.  She came back with a grip and a needle-nose.  The doctor made an incision, took the pliers and yanked. 

True story.

We sat there, stunned.  It’s like the Twilight Zone, I said.  Yes, my cousin answered, that’s exactly what it is.

Of course, it wasn’t the idea of having a blood clot or throwing said blood clot that terrified her.  It was the thought of dying in the theatre of Twilight.  People would know.  Not only the people in the theatre, but countless others would see as they carried her lifeless body from the theatre.  Good heavens!  She might even make the news!  And she would be dead!  She couldn’t explain that yes, she was old enough to know better–but she was being a good mother.  Her daughter (who, she might add, is also old enough to know better) insisted they give the movie a go!!! 

The mere thought was the more than she could bare.   

She made me promise, right then and there, if she ever dies, in public, while watching a questionable movie, that I refrain from sobbing, screaming, or otherwise-drawing-attention to myself until I have at least dragged her corpse into in the theatre of a decent movie. 

I promised.  As long as she promised not to do such a wretched thing.  I mean really–a bad movie is traumatizing enough!