...what a pity you don't understand....
We have just left the most forgettable movie in the world. Ever. Is he taking me home now? I think he's taking me home now. We pass a carnival.
Oh, Mickey, can we stop, please?
I want to ride the ferris wheel.
I just do. Please, Mickey.
"Are you sure?"
Yes, I'm sure.
"Don't you think we're a little old for this?"
I tug his reluctant, pudgy hand towards the ticket booth. Games on the midway ding and jangle. Fragrance of sweet carmel corn and funnel cake hangs above damp grass and green leaves. We climb aboard. The wheel turns, squeaking only enough for charm. The whirr of the engine is smooth, and we ascend in short hops. I look at Mickey. So what if he's round and solid instead of dashing and dangerous? He'll hold down a steady job, retire with a gold watch, play catch with his kids in the yard. Husband material.
We reach the top of the wheel. Mickey does not attempt to kiss me. I gaze, enraptured, over twinkling lights, frothy treetops. I feel him looking at me, and glance sideways. He's puzzled at my delight. I shiver a little in the night breeze. He does not put his arm around me. The ride ends. We exit the rocking car.
"You liked that?"
"Not really, no."
It's 1982. Mickey is husband material.
But not for me.
(Hey, Mickey; Toni Basil)