We May Not be Fancy, but We’re Fun

My mom arrived in town tonight for a weekend of shopping, eating, and other mother-daughter shenanigans.

With nothing on T.V., we decided to watch a movie, and Mom picked A Perfect Murder, a dark and twisty 1998 film with Michael Douglas and Gwyneth Paltrow. It’s a great watch, if you’ve never seen it. But you probably won’t want to see it, because I’m about to ruin a huge aspect of the plot: Emily doesn’t die, you guys.

Paltrow’s character, Emily, comes from a very affluent family. After surviving her own attempted murder (and killing her attacker in self-defense), she goes to stay with her mother in a huge-ass mansion. And then the mother and daughter team put on their finest cardigans and headbands, and sit down to a comforting dinner – complete with fine china and silver serving dishes.

Because that’s what you do for someone who was nearly murdered. Obviously.

A PERFECT MURDER, Gwyneth Paltrow, Constance Towers, 1998, (c)Warner Bros.

Taking in this scene with more than a little judgment, I turn to my Mom.

“Can you imagine you and I having a casual mother-daughter dinner where we eat off silver and china?” (And discuss the guy I just killed.)

Mom didn’t hesitate to answer. “Nope. No, I can’t.”

“We’re more of the eating-pizza-on-the-couch-in-our-yoga-pants variety of people, aren’t we?”

Mom nodded. “And the pizza came from Walmart.”

And we wouldn’t have it any other way.


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