There was a time when I liked to go to the movies. Long before COVID-19 cancelled theatre visits, I had begun limiting non-TV film watching to special occasions for one reason and one reason only: I’m an unapologetic cheapskate. It costs a small fortune these days to attend a movie house, what with the cost of popcorn and a drink added to the price of admission. But in the fall of 2014, celebrating my birthday, we went to see the flick Equalizer with Denzel Washington as a retired gov’t black ops pro who can’t stomach bad guys. Halfway into the movie, having already demolished a large popcorn and most of a large fruit punch, I realized that my ostomy was as excited by the action on screen as I was. It had filled up to the point of discomfort. But there wasn’t a dull moment in this action-packed adventure, and I wasn’t about to miss anything by leaving for the men’s room. Denzel, I feared, would dispatch another dozen creeps while I was away. Since we were in the first showing of the day, which began at noon, there weren’t a lot of people in the place, and none close to us. Plus, everyone was focused on the screen and there was the usual loud soundtrack. I drank off the rest of my punch, removed the top and straw, quietly and surreptitiously opened my pants, and used the large drink container for a porta-potty. My spouse provided the tissues. In just a minute, I was done. No one in the place was on to me, and Denzel took out four heavily-accented dirtbags while I was tending to things. Having an ostomy, on occasion, can be a good thing.