I spent most of the movie wishing I was more like Sandra Bullock, puttin' my hands on my hips and sayin', "Well, you'll live with me. It's settled then."
Of course, on my drive home, with tears still streaming down my face, I passed a homeless gentleman. As I stopped at a red light, he said, "Merry Christmas."
I am not married to Tim McGraw who owns 85 Taco Bells, as Sandra was in The Blind Side. But I have a cute little flat with extra sheets and towels. I have every condiment under the sun and two bathrooms. I've even got a washer and a dryer. Was this man some sign from God that I'm supposed to invite Merry Christmas Homeless Guy into my dented Honda and take him home, to feed him and let him sleep on my couch? How does one know when to extend the dramatic hand of charity?
Needless to say, Mr. Bojangles is not helping himself to my stash of frozen mango chunks right now. I responded to Merry Christmas Homeless Guy with the awkward and unexpected, "Season's Greetings!"
I have no idea where that even came from.
I'm feeling slightly guilty that as I type this, even though half of my home is currently a construction zone, I've got Santa jammies and Maurice to look forward to. Not to mention those frozen mango chunks. What if I (or YOU for that matter) could dramatically change someone's life by taking that risk and opening that dented Honda door?
And sure, I'd always secretly expect Merry Christmas Homeless Guy to become a lovable 49er who learns football plays via analogies about how much he loves me (yeah, they go there). But I'd never actually say it. And that folks, is how you get movies made about you...