One twisted uncle.

In hindsight, the plan was theoretically sound: spend an afternoon hanging out with your kid nephews and nieces, watch a movie, have quality bonding time and fun at the same time. Everything seemed perfect: I had the kids worked up into a good movie-watching mood, I had snacks ready, and I was being exceptionally cheery and sunny.

Until the movie played, that is.

Of all the movies I had to make the kids watch, it just had to be Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. You'd think the title should have riled any wholesome uncle out for some quality family fun, but no...I had to insist that Tim Burton's penchant for the macabre and the gruesome was nothing more than  a veneer for his distinctive and really innovative brand of humor. (Come to think of it, I never made any assertion that I am a serious uncle in the first place). 

To cut a long story short, I had a handful of frightened and bawling kids halfway through the movie (at roughly the part where the contents of a number of jugular veins and carotid arteries started gushing forth, I believe). One of my nephews, though, insisted that I repeat the scene where Sweeney slits the throat of Mr. Pirelli. I do hope I haven't scarred them emotionally for life...our family really only has room for one sinister member, after all, and it's already taken. Harharhar. 

Anyway, I'm setting out to bring them to an ice cream parlor. It's what PR people call damage control, I believe.

I guess I need to read up on proper childrearing. Any books, anyone?