Early on in our relationship, Laurie and I went to yet another movie about love overcoming numerous obstacles. She shushed the movie crowd, raucous on vacation; I admired only the dialogue I couldn’t quite catch. Toward the end, the hero’s friend’s suicide allowed everyone in the audience to die but live. Afterward, thinking the car was stolen, I let out a yelp in the empty, misty parking lot (in the trunk were my Christmas presents for her). Laurie finally saw where we were parked. Driving with bad brakes on the slick street, I slid through a stop sign, turning 180 degrees, hopping the curb. Angry at my careless driving, she jumped out of the car and I gave her ten seconds to get back in. She refused. Gallantly, as in Italian neorealism, I left in order to return, but when I returned, the car hydroplaned again toward the sidewalk, nearly killing our appetite for more movies.