Last Tango in Paris.
You may have heard of it. It's a 1972 film with Marlon Brando and subtitles. Very French. It's often on many sexiest movie lists. SB couldn't believe I hadn't seen it and insisted I come over in my pyjamas to watch it with her. While I was viewing the movie, she got a front row seat to the explosion of patterns that were my pyjamas.
Pants: poker suits
Tee: Spice Girls concert tee in varying shades of neon
Pillow Accessory: pink paisley
Sweater: blue and brown plaid
While watching this movie, I thought, "Ok, so this isn't really my thing, but I can see how the artsy, obscure French-ness of this would appeal. It's pretty sexy." Then, "Hmm, ok, this girl is a totally insecure idiot and this guy looks like a flasher. It's all highly improbable." And finally, "What the-? Why isn't this over yet? Oh right, because this girl hasn't lost every ounce of self dignity yet. Oh, ok, there it goes."
Luckily I was being plied with fig and olive tapenade and SB gave me the fuzzier blanket, otherwise, well, I would have at least thought about falling asleep. This movie is so ridiculous. Or if it's not ridiculous, it's so infuriating how this guy treats this girl and how the girl continues to take it. Plus, it's really ruined butter, pigs and fingernails for me.