Jesus, it feels like it’s midnight. I’m pretty sure it’s been dark since 10:00 this morning.
We had the first of two consecutive student matinees today (our…third overall, I think?), and the kids, as ever, found me to be completely perplexing. Turns out witty turns-of-phrase and shrewdly-chosen anachronistic cultural references do practically nothing for the 6 to 8-year-old set. Whatever, munchkins, you’re not my demographic.
They did enjoy it, however, when my daughters and I made our way through the audience in act two, flirting with a passel of boys who just stared back at us in pure, unfiltered horror. Rest of the kids went apeshit. I couldn’t even hear myself talk. One young man took the opportunity to keep screaming “IS THAT YOUR REAL HAIR?” at us until one of my girls shouted “YES” back just as loudly, effectively shutting him up. This is not a Q&A session, kid; you’re lucky I didn’t ask if that was your real face.
Once we left the boy-cluster, we said some generic hellos to the roughly eight-thousand girls who seemed to make up the rest of the front three rows. I inquired as to whether they had enjoyed the ball that evening, and then asked if any of them had gotten to dance with the prince. While they all giggled and stammered and shifted in their seats, one chubby little bob-haired gal in a 49ers sweatsuit looked right at me as poised as you please, and, in a semi-British accent approximating my own affected speech, stated, “Not today, no.”
“Well,” I responded, instantly besotted with this exact replica of myself from twenty years ago, “would you like to dance with us right now?”
And lo, the four of us together did shake our groove thangs for the cheering masses. And I might have loved theatre with all my heart.