Mr. & Mrs. Sampat

Perhaps it was the flush of the new year. Perhaps it was the Wild Mushroom pizza at CPK. Or the fact that a restaurant outing with a two-year-old had passed without incident. Whatever the reason, we were pleasantly surprised when Mr. Sampat agreed to watch a film that night.

“I feel like watching a movie,” began Mrs. Sampat rhetorically, in between bites of pizza.
“Mr. & Mrs. Smith,” suggested Mr. Sampat.
“Why not?” thought Mrs. Sampat happily, even though she knew Mr. Sampat’s enthusiasm had more to do with sexy Mrs. Smith than with herself.

Less than two minutes into the feature, Mrs. Sampat realized she had made a big mistake. She should have rented something sickeningly sappy like In Her Shoes or The Notebook or even The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants; anything other than the half-baked, vacuous inanity unfolding onscreen.

But the woman's supportive, if nothing else, and sat through the film - all 120 excruciating minutes of it - with toothpicks to prop her eyelids open.

Now, serious Brad Pitt fans will take offense and stop inviting me home to dinner, but prithee, tell me, why is he considered the Sexiest Man alive? The guy’s as unremarkable as a Matt Damon or a Leonardo DiCaprio, or even the UPS guy with rippling biceps who leaves packages outside our front door.

Angelina, on the other hand, is très jolie, with a killer body and lips plumper and moister than a California Sunkist raisin. And, if the tabloids are to be believed, those lips have been in more places and um … sticky situations, than the average UNHCR goodwill ambassador.

So, what could be worse than watching Brangelina wield heavy artillery for two hours and have make-up sex in a wrecked kitchen?

Watching a Hindi remake of the same with AB and Rani Mukherjee, titled Mr. & Mrs. Iyengar.

With songs.

Or watching Mrs. Sampat pucker up and pinch her lips in front of the mirror to make them fuller and plumper - sort of like this blowfish.