Oh To Be a Dwarf

The Precious insisted that I go see The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug before it left the theater, lest I break my record of having seen all the Lord of the Rings & Hobbit films on the big screen.  It was a magnificent idea, so Pixie and I, along with besties danilb https://www.blogger.com/profile/14147195839561049985 and Munchkin, spent a magnificent hundred and sixty-one minutes gazing upon the magnificent Richard Armitage in his magnificent portrayal of the magnificent Thorin Oakenshield.  Studmuffin alert!  You kinda wanna sink your fingers into that luxurious hair and climb up his braids and bite him on the lip.  Admit it, ladies of America, you're all thinking it.  I'm just the only one with enough judgement lapse to say it out loud.  The whole thing is so red-blooded, you keep expecting Jeremy Renner.
I got to thinking, watching those rock-dwellers with their fabulous manes trekking through the perilous terrain, that the poor gents needed a girl along on that trip to help with the cooking and to babysit Bilbo.  All of us who have ever left the youngsters home with Dad (speaking of lapses in judgment) know that you need a girl for childcare.  How many times and how many ways can you lose a Hobbit for crying out loud?  Strap that little dude to your back and get hiking already!
Couldn't I watch the movie like a normal individual?  Nope.  I just can't stop being the Mama, and analyzing what an easier time those adorable sirs would have had of it, had I been there to manage their affairs and help spank the bad guys.  And just think how perfectly I, with my impressive lineage of excessive hair, would fit in with an amassment of dwarves.  I'd never have to use a razor again, and my tweezers could be reserved for slivers.