My husband can’t stand horror movies. He thinks they’re ridiculous and not at all entertaining. I keep telling him they’re not real, they just feel real, unless you’re a sociopath or possibly Stephen King. Nothing seems to get to that guy. Maybe he had parents like mine, who let me watch pretty much every age-inappropriate movie ever made by the time I was 12. It was weirdly permissive of them considering they wouldn’t even let me get my ears pierced. Normally I would applaud their parenting style, but letting a 12-year-old girl watch Midnight Express might be crossing some kind of line. Meanwhile, my husband told me the other day he’s never seen Rosemary’s Baby and had no idea it was about a chick who gets knocked up by Satan. And all I could think was, my god, who raised you.

“You’re not seriously watching this movie again.”

It’s the same conversation every year. “Yes, I’m watching Halloween again. Halloween 2, actually. I’m so excited. They never show Halloween 2.”

He doesn’t care. “It’s 7:30 in the morning.”

(Sigh.)

My husband can’t stand horror movies. He thinks they’re ridiculous and not at all entertaining. I keep telling him they’re not real, they just feel real, unless you’re a sociopath or possibly Stephen King. Nothing seems to get to that guy. Maybe he had parents like mine, who let me watch pretty much every age-inappropriate movie ever made by the time I was 12. It was weirdly permissive of them considering they wouldn’t even let me get my ears pierced. Normally I would applaud their parenting style, but letting a 12-year-old girl watch Midnight Express might be crossing some kind of line. Meanwhile, my husband told me the other day he’s never seen Rosemary’s Baby and had no idea it was about a chick who gets knocked up by Satan. And all I could think was, my god, who raised you.