I volunteered to watch a scary movie with my husband the other night. I hate scary movies. I haven’t cared for them since seeing Amityville Horror at the tender age of EIGHT (thanks, Aunt Connie). I can’t even watch 48 hours when I’m in the house alone.
But, my husband said if I’d watch Jeepers Creepers with him we would turn the lights out and there would be snuggling and air-popped popcorn, so I had that going for me. If there had been Raisinets, I would have submitted to a double-feature. He likes me because I’m easy.
So we settled in and went in search of Jeepers Creepers, which we couldn’t find even though both of us had seen it listed on HBO, or Netflix, or somewhere. This left us with surprisingly few options given we were just days away from Halloween. Get your act together, cable. What good are you if you can’t make a women pee her pants with fear?
After scrolling through the selections, we stumbled across Children of the Corn. I had never seen it, so it seemed a good choice. You can’t go wrong with Stephen King, right? Wrong.
The acting! The music! The special effects! The 80s!
I could make a better movie with my iPhone and my dogs playing the lead roles. I mean, honestly, it didn’t even turn me off of running between rows of corn, which I’m pretty sure will never happen, but if it were to happen I should be terrified, which I wouldn’t be. So, if you see me running between rows of corn, you’ll know why I’m not scared.
Now I feel like I need to watch more horror movies, because maybe they aren’t scary at all and I’ve been missing the chance to have a good laugh. Next up: Leprechaun in the Hood.