Sue is dying to see “Les Miserables”; I can’t wait to see “Django Unchained.” She wants to see “Django” as much as she wants to eat giant sea slugs, and I want to sit through the three hours of “Les Mis” as much as I want to help her shop for purses.

“Have you seen the commercial for it? It’s all blood and gore and guns and death,” she says.

I say, “That’s why it’s called ‘miserable,’ isn’t it?”

“You know I’m talking about ‘Django.’ ‘Les Mis’ is a musical.”

“Yeah, a musical about blood and gore and guns and death. The only difference is they get to sing as they die, which is just dragging it out, if you ask me.”

Once again, we are at an impasse over which movie to see. The ones she likes to watch are torture for me; the ones I like, she thinks are disgusting.

“What about ‘Lincoln’?” she asks. “Everyone says it’s really great. Too bad he dies at the end.”

“Now you’ve wrecked it for me. You’re supposed to say ‘spoiler alert’ before you blurt out the end of a movie. I’ll never be able to enjoy it now. How would you like it if I told you what happened to the Titanic before you saw the film?”