Show Business

I am a theatre junkie…as you can tell by the way I spelled it with and “re” instead of “er.” I also pronounce it THEE-uh-ter, not thee-ATE-er. Whether it’s experimental improv, a small one-act or a musical playing, I love to go to the theatre. I am an especially humongous fan of the musical; my iPod is chock-a-block full of show tunes with everything from “Avenue Q” to “Xanadu.”


I am fortunate enough to have a friend who holds season tickets to our local performing arts facility and is also generous enough to invite me along when she has an extra ticket. Thus, I found myself with a seat for the touring production of “Wicked.” (Thanks, Steph!) The offer presented me with a dilemma that was two-fold: finding a babysitter and what to wear.
 My regular childcare provider was unavailable, so I spent about half and hour making phone calls. I was prepared to get creative so I considered multiple options: 1) duct tape the Pie in a box and put her in the garage 2) just sneak out of the house while “Finding Nemo” played for the gazillionth time on the DVD player 3) call my dad to come over and sit on the couch for 3 hours while the Pie ran amok (most likely naked) through the house. However, my conscience would not permit me to further investigate these options; fortunately, my good friend who lives a couple of blocks away agreed to baby sit. One down, one to go.

 When I texted my friend that I was trying to decide what to wear to the show, she responded with “I’m thinking along the line of clothes…” I knew I was at least on the right track. I take the theatre seriously, people, and I have a deep respect for the work that goes into mounting a show. I have worked with actors and stage crew, and I admire the dedication it requires. In that vein, I want to show my respect by dressing for the occasion. As I prepared for my evening out, my lovely daughter would occasionally comment: “Mama, you bra and panties match!” “Mama, me like you boots!” “Mama, how you get so pretty?” I admit, that last one stung a little bit!

 Arriving at the performing arts center, after digging through my cupholder to come up with the $5 in change required for parking, I entered the lobby with great anticipation. I expected turned out folks in their finest duds, giddily chatting amongst themselves and imbibing wine from tiny plastic cups. But, I am reminded that this is the year 2010, not the 1940’s, and men no longer wear fedoras and women who should wear girdles don’t. The assault upon my eyes was ravaging, causing me to despair about the state of society where it is acceptable to wear the same clothes to the theatre as one would wear to a football game. There were dudes sucking back Bud Lights, dressed in jeans and team jerseys; women wore ensembles that looked like they just came in from doing the laundry on a rock by the river!

 Oh, and lest we forget the ones who try TOO hard! There was a couple in their mid-forties that looked like they were going to a 1980’s prom – matching his outfit with her frock, even! A few teen-agers in attendance wore heels that were way out of their league with little tiny skirts and strappy tops. And the sequins! My God! Little blue-haired ladies looked like they had bedazzled themselves within an inch of their lives; and even women my age looked as if they spilled their kids' glitter glue all over themselves! Listen; if it ain’t the Miss America pageant, you have no business wearing sequins! How can I get this bill before Congress? Michelle Obama didn’t wear sequins on her husband’s inaugural day so what would possess a person to don them for a Sunday evening out?

 The show was wonderful and I had a great time, despite waiting in line for 17 minutes for the ladies restroom, then having to pee like my life depended on it since there were legions of women with full bladders behind me. Probably all that beer they drank.