So I decide that tonight is the perfect night for a chick-flick. As such, I put in the DVD of Nights in Rodanthe which I recently borrowed from my parents because I no longer watch television.
I honestly have to keep repeating that because I can scarcely believe it, yet.
So I'm watching the opening credits, when whose name should appear on screen?
Feckin' Scott Glenn!
Now, we all know my feelings about Scott Glenn. I swear, I almost hit the stop button and decided to watch Paul Newman in Slapshot, instead, discarding the notion of chick-flick night entirely.
Let's just pray his part, much like his talent, is small.
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