When I was ten years old, I had my first trip to London. I didn't really know much about theater, or musicals, but my older brother (fifteen at the time) did. We were house sitting for friends, and my mother was sitting at the table looking through the paper for shows while I ate my cereal.
My brother walked in to help her out and then he said, "Oh! Mom! How about we see this, I heard it's amazing!"
My mother sort of cocked her head to the side and read, "Rent...? Well, it looks interesting."
From my side of the table I looked up and wrinkled my nose at my brother. "That sounds stupid, I don't want to go."
Now, I said this for many reasons. One, because unless it was titled "Jonny Quest" or "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," nearly everything sounded boring to me. And two, because my brother wanted to see it, I just had to be contrary. It was how things worked with our relationship.
So my mother said, "OK, well, then how about this one: The Woman In Black. It's a ghost story."
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