It was a good idea at first.
She needed to see it. Everyone must see The Lion King.
I didn't know that it would have the effect it did on her.
"Jesse, there are so many things I would rather be doing than watching Disney movies with you." She said.
"Come on, please?" I said.
She sighed. "Only because you begged."
And so, she made it through the circle of life.
"Oh, my God, that little bird almost got stepped on by that huge elephant!" She gasped.
I had already made an achievement by surprising her. I wondered what she would think of the sad turn the movie would take.
"So, the baboon is about to throw the baby lion off the cliff. This is lovely."
"Shhh, just watch the movie."
"So, the monkey isn't the homicidal maniac of the animal kingdom?"
"Beca, this is a kids movie. No."
"Dang it. It would have made the movie a lot more interesting."
The only thing about getting Beca to watch movies with me besides the hard work was all that whispering.
And Beca's not a talker.
Sometimes I think she does it just to annoy me out of the movie mood.
"So, the dodo bird just keeps kissing up, the other lion with the scar is jealous of his royal brother, like Prince Harry, the lion cub was not murdered by the monkey and is totally and completely naive, and his hormones haven't kicked in yet because he doesn't like the girl lion he's betrothed to. Yep, sounds like an African soap opera to me." She said.
"Oh, it gets even more interesting, I guarantee you." I whispered.
"I can't imagine." She said sarcastically.
Then came the iconic stampede.
"Ohhh, that's one despicable lion." She said.
"Shhhh, here it comes."
"It?"
I found myself mouthing the words to the movie as I always do.
"Long live the king!"
She gasped.
"Dad? Dad, please wake up!"
She coughed. "Ah hem, I may need to go to the bathroom for a second."
"Okay, hurry back. l''ll pause it." I said.
"No! I mean, you don't have to do that." She said nervously.
"Okay..." I said.
Then I heard the crying. And the honking. Like Marge Simpson with a cold.
I opened the bathroom door to find tissues scattered all over the floor.
Embarrassed, she looked at me.
"Can I blame it on PMS?"
"Nope."