The Husband and I watched Transformers 2 over the weekend. It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t great. It was fun, overly silly (not always in a good way), and best if you don’t think too hard about it, but I enjoyed it. Now I had hoped that while watching himself on the big screen little Optimus Prime would have start moving enough that I could feel him, but alas no such luck. That said, that’s not the apocolyptic news.
As we sat at the theater, me calculating how possible it would be for me to make a 2 1/2 hour movie with previews and not have to run to the bathroom to relieve my ever-shrinking bladder (how is that fair, I ask you!) a preview started on the screen. “The Mayans calendar predicts the end of the world to come this year on the 21st of December…” Wait….what? December 21st! This year!!! That’s…that’s…that’s the day Optimus Prime is slated to come into the world! Holy crap! Little OP really is the apocalypse! I smack the Husband and whisper the revelation. He laughs. I’m on the verge of tears because, yes, I am a tad hormonal, and I don’t want the guilt of knowing that I am the cause of the end of the world. We’ve joked that me being pregnant would be the first sign of the apocalypse, but I never imagined we were actually right! Then I notice that the movie title has come up and it’s 2012. Oh. Not this year. In three years. Nevermind!