NaBloPoMo, I have had An Amount of white wine. An Amount. But it was at a swanky dinner party full of lively conversation and good-natured quipping, so I am well within my rights, methinks.
It has become tradition, after each performance of Cinderella, for the title character and her dashing prince to come onstage a few minutes after curtain call and take pictures with all the wee children in the audience. Today, due to one of the step-sisters having little-ish members of her family present, the entire step-family joined them. While we certainly were not as popular as the bejeweled protagonist and her lanky paramour, we did get visits from some particularly adorable youngsters, and it occurred to me that this was as close to being a face character at Disneyland as I was ever going to get. Your loss, Mouschwitz; I am a goddamn delight.
I have spent the full duration of every drive I’ve taken over the past few days feverishly lip-synching to Javert’s suicide from Les Miserables, and it is starting to get ridiculous. I’m not, like, depressed or anything; I just really, really like Philip Quast, and secretly wish that I, too, was a lusty, strong-jawed baritone.
MAYBE IT IS TIME FOR BED.