It started in my inbox. A warning from Chris, threatening stomach punches to any nerds who show up in anything approaching a costume. "Once we have our tickets in hand, you are on your own. We are not going to find 16 seats next to each other. Buddy up with someone, and don’t choke on popcorn; you’ll ruin it for everyone. Afterward, we’ll be meeting for food, drinks, lightsaber duels, stomach punches, and lively nerdy discussion at the Waterfront Ale House." Okay, buddy up with someone.
"Chris, sit next to me!"
"Sorry, Darlin’. Can’t do it."
"Whaddyamean?" My eyebrows pinched together.
"I have a rule, baby. Girls and Sci-fi don’t mix. You’re going to be all talking in my ear during the movie, asking what’s going on, and what a Wookiee is."
"Ew, blow me." I knew exactly what a Wookiee was, thanks to the nerds I grew up with who called ugly girls Wookiees.
Nerd time ended in the Ale House, after one nerd answered the question, "Why don’t Wookiees age?"
"Oh, their life span is 500 years." Just like that, nerding out on a Thursday night. Then my girls showed up and rescued me from the eville Darth Chris. Luna Park (where I met a Caribbean dude who said, "You’ve never tasted the Caribbean," and he wasn’t talking about food. Ew.), Underbar, PS 450, followed by my bed and my nerdy dog.
