Scene: A family room. A 40-something woman is curled up at one end of the sofa, flipping through the TV channels. Her teenage son is lying down at the other end, watching videos on his cell phone, earbuds in. She chooses a show to watch, and settles in.
Son (peering up from his phone): What is this movie?
Mom: It’s called The Breakfast Club.
Son: What’s it about?
Mom: They’re in detention all day on a Saturday. You’ve never seen it?
Son: No. Do they know each other?
Mom: Not really. I mean, they’re not friends. They are in different groups. See? The one guy’s a sports guy, and the other guy’s nerdy, and she is popular, and she is not, and he is bad to the bone.
Son (laughing): Whoa, what was that? Did his voice change?
Mom: Well, yeah. This is on basic cable. They cut out the swear words and some of the content to make it appropriate for TV. The voiceover quality isn’t very good.
Son: (quietly watching)
Mom (observing her son instantly loving this monumental piece of her adolescence): It’s a good movie, right?
Son (distractedly): Yeah.
(Some time later)
Mom: Isn’t it time for you to go to bed? You have school tomorrow. You know we can DVR it.
Son: I will. At the next commercial.
(They continue to watch the movie. He is being sucked in for the first time, and she’s being sucked in for what may very well be the thousandth time.)
Mom: He says gutless turd there. Not worm.
Son: How do you know?
Mom: I’ve seen this countless times. It came out when I was twelve.
Son (peering at his mother, possibly wondering why she held out on him until he was fourteen to mention that this movie exists): Huh.
Mom (twenty minutes later): Okay. You have to go to bed now. Hit the record button.
Son: Aw, okay. I’m watching the rest of this tomorrow, though.
Mom: Consider it your after-school assignment.
(He turns off the TV, and goes to bed. The mom straightens up and follows him a few minutes later. As she does, she pumps her fist in the air, a show of victory to no one in particular.)