“Let’s take the kids to the movies!” my dad proposed in that enthusiastic dad sort of way. “How about Horton Hears a Who?”

“Uh, well, I’m sure Tootie would love it, but the E-man — well, there’s a good reason he hasn’t been to a movie yet (ever) and that’s my devout belief that he will never sit through one.”

But they convinced me, yes they did, those conniving grandparents who never miss a chance to make me pay for my own childhood misdeeds.

So Horton it was.

Little son sat contentedly through the previews. When Horton finally began, however, he piped up. “Mommy, is it over? Can we go home?”

Pick him up and run now.

“No, sweetie, it’s just starting. Isn’t this FUN?! We’re watching a MOVIE!”

“Mommy, can I get down?”

“No, we sit here all through the movie.”

Please, just once, let the filmmakers have realized that small children do not have the attention span required for a 2 1/2-hour feature. Plus ads. Plus trailers.

Thirty minutes passed. Then little son developed a sudden and severe aversion to the sound of Jim Carrey’s voice and Horton’s ear gymnastics and demanded to leave.

“Hey, how about if I take you out to buy some candy?” his granddad inquired.

“No,” the E-man replied. His brow furrowed.

What do you mean, “no?” Look kid, the Easter bunny is long gone. You’d better take the bribe because Mommy polished off the last of the jellybeans yesterday.

“YES! How about some CANDY?” I chirped, prompting the row in front of us to turn around. For the eighth time.

“No.”

“OK, well, how about we go out to the lobby for a little while?” Granddad persisted.

The E-man decided this was a much better proposal, but was adamant that Mommy would be the only acceptable companion.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”

The E-man started down the row, easily squeezing by three sets of knees.

I was slower, however, since I was facing my parents and Tootie (impolite to subject people in your row to your butt as you slither by, right?) as I followed my little boy.

The E-man paused to make sure I was following and promptly bonked his head on a fold-up seat.

“WAH!”

“Shh!” I shout-whispered. “It’s OK.”

“I HIT MY HEAD!”

“I know. Keep walking.”

But the E-man refused to budge, and in my haste to prod him forward I somehow became wedged between my mother’s knees and the seat behind of me.

ohnoohnoohno….

I waggled my butt, hoping to free myself without catapulting the man behind me from his seat.

I was stuck. And I was also laughing. And blocking the view of the half-dozen or so rows behind us. Worse, I was facing all these people, who did not seem to be amused by my predicament.

“E-man!” I hissed. “Move!”

“No!”

I wiggled some more.

“You have to go so that Mommy can get out.”

“No.”

I swore right then that I would never again sneak candy from the children’s Easter baskets if only I could free myself.

Finally, after one last wag, I made it down the row and slunk out of the theater.

And then, two hours later, I helped myself to the E-man’s robin’s eggs and pastel M&Ms.

I figure I earned them.