Katas Ng Saudi

At some point during our afternoon stroll at the Powerplant mall, hubby and I saw a poster for the Metro Manila Film Festival, that annual showcase of mostly wasted celluloid, hackneyed scripts, and life-scarring performances (see: presidential spawns-turned-actors).

'Wanna watch an MMMF movie this year?' I asked him as we passed by the cavernous cinema lobby which smelled of cheese popcorn and lemonade.

'Well actually, there’s one I’d like to see,' he said.

'There is?'

'Yes.'

I somehow sensed a punch line coming my way. 'Which movie?'

'Katas ng Saudi. The one with Jinggoy.'

Without actual laughter, I said, 'Haha. Very funny.'

'I’m not kidding,' he said. But his dimply smile gave him away.

'Whatever. Let’s go to Fully Booked.'

'But I wanna watch Katas ng Saudi. Sige na, let’s watch it.'

'I think I’d rather have LASIK surgery without anesthesia.'

'Sige na.'

'Nooooo.'

'Why not?'

'Are you serious? Hello? Jinggoy Estrada.'

'Hmp.'

With feigned sadness, hubby pouted his lower lip and drooped his head, thus achieving the pitiable expression of a caged puppy in a pet shop. In a kindergarten voice, he said, 'Aym jas gonna wats da moovee bai mai self sins yoo dont wana wats eet weed mi.'

A court order, a blank check, a gun to my forehead --- none of these things could ever make me suffer through Katas ng Saudi or any other MMFF flick which doesn’t have a decent amount of male frontal nudity in it. But when hubby did his little orphan-child act, right then and there my staunch resistance began to crumble like an imploding Vegas hotel and I found myself baby-talking:

'Oh hubeee, tsige na nga. Ay weel wats Katas ng Sawdee weed yoo na beekos dat ees wat yoo want end ay lab yu berimats. Mieorw.'

Fortunately, hubby was just kidding --- whew --- about wanting to see the movie and we spent the rest of the day roaming the mall, conversing like four year olds.