There wasn’t much to choose from. It WAS Sunday night, after all. (Or are we the last family to still rent movies from an external source, and there just isn’t a good selection in these machines anyway? I always assume I’m hopelessly old-fashioned in every way.)
Anyway, I snagged an Australian movie called Red Dog. The Australians have been good to us in the past, what with Duma and The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I figured this movie would be okay for us. I didn’t even read the synopsis. Family movies about dogs are pretty safe all around, so I took it home and announced that tonight was Red Dog night.
Groans and whines and defeated sighs were heard all around. Why is mom so uncool? Why does she still act like we’re babies? What is with her and these crazy foreign movies?
And when my husband quit complaining, the children started.
I ignored their rudeness and fired up the movie, and watched the heck out of Red Dog and his exploits, which were amazing and touching and maybe one of the best family movies we’ve seen in a while. I won’t spoil one detail for you, because you should see it. We all loved it in different ways.
In particular, my daughter, age 9, was totally taken with the main character in the movie, played by Josh Lucas, American actor. Here is his picture:
He’s smoking hot, as told to me several times by my daughter, age 9. Mr. Lucas is 42 years old. She thinks he’s 30. Which is, whoa, way too old for her to think he is smoking hot. Why does may 9-year-old use this term, anyway?
When I mentioned that he’s probably close to 40, she said no problem, can you Google him and print out a picture of him for my wall? Because he is smoking hot.
So Josh Lucas is my daughter’s first celebrity crush. Can I remind you what he looks like?
It makes more sense when you look at this picture of my husband, who resembles him a little:
|The girl thinks her Dad is handsome.|
It’s a wonder my parents let me out of the house.