On Sunday, we decided to go see Bridesmaids. It was OK that we made this decision at 6:15 and the movie started at 6:30 because we live a five-minute drive from the theatre, which still leaves you with a solid 10 minutes to get parked, get snacks, find seats, and skip the pre-previews. Easy peasy, right?

We got our tickets and went to find seats, and the plan was Peter would run back out and buy snacks while I held our seats. The theatre was pretty close to full, but we were able to find two seats together at the end of one of the rows near the front but not in the crane-your-necks section. There were two empty seats at the end of the row, then there was a coat thrown across the two seats next to it, and then people. So presumably the two seats next to us were saved. No big deal. So I took one of the free seats and Peter went out to get our food.

The previews started and I turned off my phone, took off my coat, got all comfy and such. This included unbuttoning my jeans. Truth. I'm 15 weeks pregnant, and by the end of the day that shit gets uncomfortable. It's not like squishy fat you can tuck and compress out of the way. It's a rock-hard ute. There is a difference. Be prepared for more of these TMI anecdotes over the next, ohhh, five and a half months.

To pass the time, I started playing Word Mole on my Blackberry. If you have a Blackberry, you need to get Word Mole. This game is my lifesaver every time I have to wait - the doctor's office, the DMV, or avoiding watching previews for Cowboys vs. Aliens or whatever the hell they tried to get us geared up for on Sunday.

Suddenly, I was snapped out of my Word Mole reverie by a raging case of bitchvoice next to me. "Ummmm, we had saved those three seats," I heard. I looked up and there's a cluster of bimbos, arms laden down with popcorn and pops, standing in the aisle next to me.

I just blinked at them (not unlike a mole.) "What? You had three seats?"

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuhhhh," as if "yeah" is a three-syllable word, reported Chief Bimbo.

"Oh, sorry," I muttered. "It looked like only two..." I hustled to get everything together: coat, bag, Blackberry, Blackberry case, and stood up. My unbuttoned pants gapped and threatened to fall. Stay up, stay up, stay up, I silently willed my pants as I pushed past the rocket scientists and hurried down to the next available seats.

In the second row.

In the crane-your-neck section.

Saddest face.

As I sat there with my head tilted backward at a 30 degree angle attempting to see the screen, I got madder and madder. Who saves three seats but only covers two? Who is that stupid? If there's three or more of you, one stays behind and saves the seats. It's seat saving 101. I felt like going back and telling them off. What kind of hillbilly doesn't know the rules of saving seats?

All through the movie I was pissed off. "I hate them," I hissed at Peter several times. "I'm going to throw something at them."

At the end of the movie I was finally going to make my move. "Hope they enjoyed their awesome seats," I growled. "I'm going back to tell them off."

"Fasten your pants up and let's go," he told me.

This is what it's come to. No more movie theatre fights. I'm just a fat girl who gets bullied at the movies and can't even fasten her pants.

"Fine, whatever. But I'm going to blog about this," I promised.