The Short Fat Sugar Hobbit and the Scary Movie

‘Short Fat Sugar Hobbit’ was the laughing insult my sister threw at me in the hospital with mum last night. It fits, strangely, since, well, I'm fairly short, in need of a gym, and at the time we were all ODing on pick-and-mix; then there's my odd hobbit features, the laughing, soulful eyes inset in hobbit face, the sometimes curly hobbit hair, and stupidly hairy feet. Seriously.

In contrast, H looks like she strode straight out of Rivendell.

When Elven-Sis grew bored, later in the evening, she came to snag a movie, and I, with boredom of equal measure, suggested joining forces and watching one together. Not just any movie though, folks. A Scary Movie. One of the few which tighten an invisible vice until I can barely breathe, and my burning heart threatens to burst, thus erupting in full gore from my chest.

Elven-Sis immediately latches on to my ill-developed thought, asking “is it really scary?”

Knowing full well that we are level on the whimp-o-meter, I explain that, yes, it’s fucking terrifying, because a well-prepped imagination knows how plausible the concept running through the tale could be. And, by the way, we’ll be watching with the lights on. With piles of chocolate at our sides.

I don’t want to fucking watch, and yet, the thing is brilliant, and I really, really do. It’s just that – aaargh! So, anyway, we gather chocolate-orange cookies and the fun begins.

Now, I’ve been drinking coffee by the gallon all day, and 20 minutes and a couple of ‘how freaky would that be’ and ‘oh my god – horrible’ comments into the thing, I can feel the contents of my bladder reaching to wards the escape button.

“I have to pee.” I say
“Don’t pause it and leave me.”
“I’ll leave it on then – back in a sec.”
“No!”
“But I really have to pee.”
“Ok, pause it, but be quick.”

When I get back, I sit at the computer ready to press play.
“I don’t want to watch anymore.” I say, half of me dead sure, the other half abhorring my cowardice, desperate to release the Endorphins Of Fear.
“Really?”
“I don’t know.” I can see her eyeing the screen, uncertainly. “It gets worse.”
But we both want to see it through, so after stalling for a while, in the happy, bright confines of The Real World, I press play and leap over to the comfort of pillows and blankets.

The Plot edges forwards. Elven-Sis flexes through complacency and tensed mind, as do I, at the thought of what’s to come. Still, we fixate upon the screen, and for 15 minutes more, we’re carried through. The second scene of gore appears. Elven-Sis squeals subconsciously and brings us both back to the room. Silently staring at the screen, neither wanting to ruin it for the other.

Relaxing simultaneously, each of us catches the other’s eye.

“Let’s watch Harry Potter.”