By the end of it, I was crawling up my husband's arm. In theory that's romantic, in practice, that's describing a person who was so freaked out that facing down an empty public restroom afterwards was only made possible by the terrors of a screaming bladder. On the way home and throughout the evening I processed the movie by discussing the creepy details and weighing the potential reality with the movie's reality. I commented again and again on the genius of the musical score which had lots of silent stretches that added to the realism of the experience. By bedtime, I'd analyzed and prayed my way into feeling much better. I drifted off to sleep, still chatting.
My husband, on the other hand, tossed and turned all night. We had a good scary movie experience, but romance? Not a chance.
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