So Sold Out Means I Can't Get In? Are You Sure? Can We Work Something Out? Maybe Also I Get A Crown Or Something? More Proof I Have Superpowers, by Allison

So, I am thinking it is official that I have superpowers, in case that was still open for debate.
Latest evidence?
I submit:

1. Saturday,  Matt and I wrangle the girls to the gym's Parents' Night Out, in which the gym kindly exercises, swims, feeds, and makes our children drowsy while we do something fun.  The girls trot along, swim bags and jammies all packed, and we bolt.

2. Our first stop of fun is to lovely wine lounge otherwise known as, Really Cool Place That Agreed To Change The Name Of The Cocktail I Like Because I Did Not Like Its Original Name And I Was Vocal And Bratty About It And So It Is Now Named After Me.

 (Spoiler! This is what is known as foreshadowing, in which I hint at my eventual, meandering though very, very interesting pathway to Proof I Have Superpowers, Volume XIV.)

Is seriously fun place and I have written verification of drink name change, they made me a sign for my birthday and I saved it. 
But note: My objection was not that the original name was not named after me, I am horrible and brat but I honestly do not expect the entire world to cater to my every whim or march to tune of All About Allison.

 (Or Do I???? More foreshadowing, I am literary scholar here)

My issue with drink name was that the original name was a bad name I did not like and found derivative and lame.
And guess what?
I garner more vocabulary words and adjectives as evening goes on, until after maybe my third visit in which I consume lovely beverage while decrying its awful name, it is agreed upon/I am so tedious they give up, and new name!
And yay, sure, I am the one who fought the good fight, like  Karen Silkwood or Norma Rae or other 1970's movies ladies with terrible hair protesting radiation poisoning or unfair labor laws, except not any of that at all, but still, if name suggestions are asked for, I have some thoughts.

3. We next venture down to movie theater to see Les Miserables. I am super excited, because I am triple extra geeky fan.

Who cries like a lunatic every time anything Les Miz gets within ten miles of me, starting with seeing the musical on Broadway in early teenage girl wearing bad velvet dress era.

Is family lore, The Time Allison Had Meltdown At Les Miserables And Embarrassed Us All.

Matt has been warned, both by family anecdotal history, me agreeing with said history, and me crying over the recent Entertainment Weekly issue that had a picture in it of Anne Hathway/Fantine looking like bad stuff was happening to her.
(Spoiler: Very bad stuff, and I cried.)
So yay! Super fun tear fest hours long sobbing adventure ahead!
Allons-y!

4. But when we get to the theater, the movie is sold out.
The guy says so, to Matt.

I choose to disagree.
 I was all, "No, no it is not sold out."

I have no idea why I thought that was a course of action that would lead to the movie magically becoming NOT sold out, but somehow I was very, very certain, or at least, really, really wanted to see the movie and therefore was focusing very hard to remember Jedi Mind Tricks even though I have not actually ever watched any of the Star Wars movies in their entirety and only know "this is not the droid you are looking for" or whatever by osmosis.

5. I peek around Matt's shoulder to discuss the issue with Ticket Guy.
 I tell him it is not sold out.

Matt is trying to drag me away, like he did at The Avengers when I started being awful because the costumes were silly.

But I was ready to see this movie.



I had only one smuggled tea, since I wanted to see the whole movie and I was pretty sure there would be no boring parts where I would not be crying.
I needed hydration, though.

And I had two full packs of makeup wipes and tissues.
I would not need to rely on the kindness of strangers handing me Kleenex.
I was ready, kids were occupied, I want to see this movie, please sir.

6. Ticket Guy and I discuss the sold out/not sold out issue for about thirty seconds, when he then says, "Um, I don't know, you might have to sit up front."

Matt says "Let's go, I don't want to sit up front."

And I say, "Shh.  It took me half a minute to get this guy from Sold Out to Non-Ideal Seating Offering. Give me two seconds. "

I give guy money, we get tickets, Matt is still looking at me like I am crazy person.

 (Note: Agree, totally am, but in this case, am crazy like fox, or wily movie ninja wizard ticket getter, or lady please go away whatever.), and we go in, get seats, up front but to side and totally fine viewing for tragic French doomed characters just trying to eat bread or feed kids or not get stampled or have Russell Crowe throw phones at them, and Les Miserables commences.

I cry within two minutes and do not stop the entire time, because seriously, Fantine has worst life ever and it is so wrong.
And even when that is not happening, I am thinking about it and then I cry some more.

And even more so in movie, as it has actors I know of, and do not want harm to come to them or their hair or their sad love lives pining after dude who does not notice you and you call him "Monsieur" in your death song which has always made me livid, let Eponine die thinking you are on first name basis, MARIUS.

And am delighted by Hugh Jackman, singing away, he is possibly happiest person ever, gets to be all muscle superhero or X person or whatever, and then also star in musicals.
He just seems so tickled by his lot in life, I mean, he acts as Jean Valjean very well and that guy is not character from Oklahoma! but I mean, I sense joie de vivre anyway.

7. And loved the movie, used up all my makeup wipes, we collect children, and I am all "Matt, tell them how I got us into the sold-out movie."

 And he is looking at me, and then in backseat containing at least two eagerly listening girls wanting to hear about the name changes and movie seat acquisitioning, one girl cringing in anticipated Ug Mom Really?

(Note: To clarify, Oldest daughter V was more "Oh no. Was Mom embarrassing? Did anyone see?", Middle daughter E was all "Exactly what did you say? How many times, and how loud? Did you have to write something up?" and Youngest daughter M was more "Of course. Did they also give you a castle? You should have asked for a castle, Mom.")

And then the girls all went to bed immediately, no attempted negotiation of extended privileges, and I put on a face mask because I had been crying a whole bunch.

And the bad dog hadn't gotten out and ruined anything, and successful date night with delightful beverage named delightfully and magically earned movie tickets and deliciously sobby weepy musicale, all's well that ends well, nobody lost an eye
(I mean, maybe some of the poor Miserables did, but nobody I am in charge of did) and I am filing it in my ongoing collection of Proof I Have Superpowers.