I don’t care what the critics say; I loved it. I mean, I really loved it. I never laugh at comedies anyway. It takes a lot to get me to laugh aloud, and most films are so set-up-punch that I expect everything—it’s too easy—so I never laugh. I usually laugh at something very true and still unexpected. So I never see a comedy hoping to laugh. I go hoping to feel moved, hoping to think and feel. After seeing Amy Schumer’s I Feel Pretty (PG-13), I texted a friend telling her she had to see it. It was exceptional. Granted, I’m a facilitator at Weight Watchers, so I kinda live at this address.

But what I really loved this week was a conversation I had with my eleven-year-old daughter. She asked if I would go see the “Pretty Movie” with her this week. “I already saw it,” I told her.
“No,” she said. “You did not.”
“I did. Why, you wanted to see it?”
“It’s just, as soon as I saw it, I thought, ‘Oh, that’s so mom.'”

Now, knee-jerk inner-fat-kid me immediately thought, “She thinks I’m fat. My daughter thinks I’m fat.” But I said nothing. Maybe she just thinks I’m loud and larger than life, because, well, if I were a color, I’d be hot pink. When I asked my girl what exactly she meant, she had this to say:

“I saw the trailer and thought, ‘Yeah, that’s you’ because you’re all about the power of mindset.” Yes, she said the word “mindset.” “In the movie, she smacks her head after falling off an exercise bike, and she believes she’s beautiful.” Uh, huh.  “Well, that thought makes her feel beautiful, which makes her act that way, which makes other people see her that way.” What?!

“It’s like you’re always saying, ‘Our thoughts create our feelings, which create our actions, which create our results.'”

Holy shit.

“You see, I listen.”

I am so impressed. With her and with my awesome momness. I am awesome! All that and my girl didn’t even see the movie. Kinda makes me want to go see it again with her, except for the sex scenes, which would make her feel mortified due to the thought, “I’m watching this with my mother,” which would lead to the action of covering her own eyes with her shirt and asking that I please stop looking at her… forever.