But if I am going down for the crime of having dragged everyone into the theater that evening, I am taking A.O. Scott down with me. It was Mr. Scott who wrote the New York Times review that led me to believe that Eat, Pray, Love, the movie, was more than the sum of its verbs.
Which pretty much sums up this movie except for the other 135 minutes from which all charm has been completely exfoliated.
The result is a movie-going experience so numbingly awful that I begin to see literary potential in the two hours and 10 minutes I spent waiting for my luggage to arrive.
We are a few days into the South Florida leg of Margarita Tour 2010 when we are brought low by our faith in New York Times movie reviews and a weakness for unshaven men.
All my friends and I can do is exchange stares of disbelief as we shamble toward the theater exits like shipwreck survivors.
As is so often the case, the first thought that pops into my head is a selfless one: We must warn the others.
"Oh my god," I say. "We are about to do the Executive the biggest favor ever."
This stops the Litigator in her tracks. "No," she says firmly. "We are not."
She is right of course. If there is one ironclad rule of Girls Night Out, other than the two-drink minimum, it is this: conspiracies against absent posse members are to be encouraged.
And so we feel compelled to convince the Executive that Eat, Pray, Love is not a two hour and 20 minute Hallmark card read aloud over a lunch of cafeteria spaghetti.
It might have worked if not for the fact that the first opportunity falls to The Psychologist, who is prone to bouts of empathy and cannot bring herself to follow through.
Also, the Executive is no fool. If it is so good, she counters, why not see it again with her?
But no vacation is long enough for that.
Photo: At 2 hours and 10 minutes running time, Sit, Wait, Trudge explores one woman's quest for the perfect carry-on.