My beautiful bride and I went to see the 25th Anniversary re-release of the movie “Titanic” in 3D. It was kind of a pre-Valentine Day romantic date for us.

The movie was showing in a large theatre, and we got our usual seats front and center about five rows back from the screen. Right behind us were the handicapped seats, which I’m sure you’re not allowed to call them that anymore, but I don’t know what the politically correct term for “handicapped seats” is. Behind the whatever you call handicapped seats is an aisle and then the so-called stadium seats where most people like to sit.

Usually, nobody sits where we like to sit on the ground seats nearest the screen even though once upon a time “front and center” were considered the best seats in the house, and they still are in our opinion.

Usually too, nobody is sitting in whatever you’re supposed to call the handicapped seats . . . but today there were three old couples, probably a few years older than Karen and I who are no longer a spring chicken and rooster ourselves anymore.

Unfortunately, these three old couples mistook the theatre for their living room like old people always seem to do these days. And, of course, they don’t whisper, because, if they did, they couldn’t hear themselves, could they?

So I guess that they just assume that them talking right out loud is less annoying to other people than other people having to listen to them say to one another, “What? WHAT?” if they tried to whisper.

So in their own screwed up and/or selfish points of view, they’re really just being considerate of all the other movie goers who also paid for their seats and were expecting to hear movie dialogue unmixed by inane comments from inconsiderate geezers . . . or maybe that’s just me who prefers my movie experience that way.

It used to be that it was young people and their ubiquitous cell phones which, even if the young people weren’t talking or texting on them, emitted that blinding cell phone light that totally intrudes on the atmosphere that a darkened movie theater was supposed to create. But I can’t remember the last time that a young person did that. It’s like they one day collectively realized that it’s NOT COOL to turn on your cell phone in a darkened movie theater.

OH IF ONLY old dogs COULD also learn new tricks too, huh? Like how to shut the hell up when the lights go out, for instance. WHY can’t they learn THAT trick?

Old people are even from a long-gone generation that was taught the common courtesy, if not also decency, of shutting one’s yap when the movie starts.

Now this rant DOES have a happy ending, because when the old couples only got louder and louder as the previews for coming attractions played, even AFTER Karen and I had quietly moved up one row so that they weren’t right behind us, I stood up before our romantic movie started, turned to face them, and politely asked if they would please be quiet when the movie started or else I would have to go call the manager.

The “or else” part could have been left off, I suppose. So could the loud retort from one of the men, “WE don’t have to take your “*!@# YOU a##*@%*!”

“All right,” I said, “I’m getting the manager.”

“Good! You do that!” said the foul-mouthed spokesman for the grumpy group.

When the manager and I returned, the movie was just starting, and it was dark. So I sat back down next to my beautiful bride, and all the geezers miraculously stayed silent for the entire movie. Praise the LORD! The manager didn’t have to say anything to anyone.

Two thirds of the way through the three-hour movie, I had to go, and I don’t mean home. I realized too late that the large glass of water that I’d drunk before the movie wasn’t a good idea for a three-hour movie. So I waited until the romantic stuff was over and the ship had hit the iceberg to make my move.

Apparently our old men bladders had somehow synchronized themselves, because as I was walking into the men’s room the three old dudes were walking out. They must not have recognized me (or, if they did, they didn’t show it) because the last one politely held the door open for me as I entered.

All the while I did my business, I was fully expecting to get jumped inside the men’s room by the old guys after they had snuck back in behind me, and I wondered how that was gonna read in the paper the next day.

“Movie Shusher Badly Beaten Up In Harkins’ Theatre Men’s Room”

It didn’t happen . . . this time. But we probably should just quit going to movies.