Act One

"What's this?" I set my glass of wine on the side table next to the couch.

"Goodfellas" he answers without looking at me.

"This is what we're watching?" We have this exact same conversation every night. I walk downstairs after finishing the bedtime routine with the kids, grab something to drink, sit down and then it starts. A negotiation to find something we can both agree on.

"Why not?" He turns to me.

"It's too violent." I flinch. Joe Pesci's fists slam  into the Billy Batts character. He's calling him a f***ing mutt, kicking and punching him over and over.

"Since when? This used to be your favourite movie." He pushes the recliner back into sitting position. I've got his attention.

My face heats up. He's got me there.  If you asked me ten years ago which movie I could watch again and again, I would have said Goodfellas.

"Since now. Look at this". Irritated I point to the screen. I take a sip of the shiraz-cab blend, the first sip always burns a little going down.

They pull the car over, a thudding coming from the trunk. I shield the side of my face closest to the TV knowing what's coming but can't drown out the sound. Frip, frip, frip, Pesci stabs the body repeatedly. Then Robert DeNiro shoots the corpse three or four times. Ray Liotta slams the trunk shut.

Grizzly.

"Awww you're kidding Grandma." Frustrated he dismisses me and turns back to the movie.

"I'm  a grandma because I don't wanna watch scene after scene of violence?" I've never seen Joe Pesci uglier than in this movie.

"Uh, ya you are. Why don't you go hang out with my Aunt Bea?"

I'm laughing now. "I love your Aunt Bea."

"So do I, but you're acting like an old woman."

"Only old women don't like violence?"

I have to refrain myself from telling him that according to Wikepedia Goodfellas uses the F word something like 300 times. I googled it a few months back. I get the sense he wouldn't be as impressed as I was.

"Does everything about you have to change now that we have kids?"

"This is violent. I'm not gonna apologize for not wanting to watch it" My voice rising. We've had this same argument a dozen times since Deaglan was born.

Defeated and with a deep sigh he hands me the remote. "There's nothing else on. Look."

"Forget it. I'll use the computer. Can I at least have the recliner then?"

This is my entry for the Red Writing Hood prompt - ugly.