One of my boys is home sick today, something that slows down momentum like nothing else. He tries hard to leave me alone, but he’s seven, and he has a lot of things to talk about. So finally I rooted around in our pile of Netflix movies and put Pride and Prejudice (the one with Colin Firth) in the computer.
That did the trick. For some reason, when you’re seven, the question of how the Bennett girls are going to find husbands is fascinating. After asking whether there were any guns in the movie (only once, in the shooting scene), he settled in. He liked the parties, the soldiers, the nasty Miss Bingley. I think because he so often feels like the rudest one in our family, he was happy to see a movie in which so many adults are mean to each other. And because there is no kissing, and the search for love is expressed in words rather than scary outfits in which girls show their belly buttons, he was not scared away.
The funniest thing of all though is that when Mr. Darcy proposes to Elizabeth that first time, so rudely and with so much passion, I happened to be looking over his shoulder and then when Elizabeth turned him down, I began to weep. Poor thing, my son looked at me with some concern and said, Mom. This whole movie? It’s about marriage, isn’t it? As though nothing could be sad about marriage, for heaven’s sake. Now, if you fall off your bike, that’s another story entirely.
We’ve got the second part of this movie, the part where things turn out all right, coming in the mail. Neither of us can wait.