Skip to main content

I Just Love the Ballet

My mom invited me to bring my daughters, ages 6 and 8, to her home in NC to watch the Nutcracker ballet. So we left the hubby, the son and the puppy unsupervised and drove up yesterday for 24 hours of holiday bliss.

The drive to Winston-Salem normally takes about 5 hours so I guess I should consider myself lucky that it only took us 7 hours to get there. And in between pleading to stop somewhere and either eat or use the restroom my girls peppered me with "Are we there YET?!" comments. I'm surprised that I didn't bend the steering wheel through my frustration.

But we finally arrived and my mom had a bottle of wine open...suddenly things were looking up. The show started at 7:30 which is 30 minutes past when my kids typically go to bed. But I figured that one late night wouldn't hurt them. As the lights were dimming Allison, my 6 year old, suddenly looked a bit lackluster. Her skin was pale and her eyes were at half-mast. I remembered vaguely slipping her a Dramamine so that she would not puke in the car. I'll bet she's pretty tired.... I grew to the conclusion that my mom bought this kid a ticket to a hearty nap.

I noticed that at one point of the performance Allison had crept onto my mothers lap. Isn't that sweet? And I thought back over the day for the kids and how tired they must be. Poor things. And they were SO hungry and tired by the time we got to my moms place! Allison must have had 5 glasses of milk! I looked at her, innocently on moms lap, snuggled into her shoulder, and tried to remember the last time she'd gone to the bathroom. Hmmm...not here at the show...did she go at moms? I don't think so...

I envisioned a tidal wave of urine washing over my mothers black silk outfit, onto the floor of the Stephens Center and flowing into the orchestra pit. The horn section would get hit first. There would be screams, of course, and the customary choruses of "Oh my God! Is that...it couldn't be...NOOOO!!!!". People would leap out of the way, men would dive on top of the river to save their wives and kids...mass pandemonium. But my disturbed fantasy never came to fruition. Allison soldiered through it and managed to stay awake throughout the performance. She's such a trouper!

So I got bored again. I started paying close attention to the costumes these people were wearing. If you are going to dance in ballet and want a nice looking costume then I STRONGLY recommend that you be a woman. All of the women's costumes seemed designed to make them look good. The ornate bodices were cut to display their trim waists. The skirts had layer upon layer of tulle, sprinkled with sequins to really dazzle us while they twirled. The Sugar Plum Fairy, who was carried onto the stage on a male dancers shoulder, is a perfect example of this. She was stunning with her beautiful tutu and sparkling tiara.

In stark contrast it seemed the males costume was designed to make him look ridiculous. He was wearing a very colorful but short coat and...not much else. He had on white stockings, of course, but they were strange looking. The back of it was crammed impossibly up his ass and in the front was this enormous, unnatural looking BULGE. What the hell did he have in there, I wonder? An award winning gourd from his garden? The Chia Pet he's planning on giving his parents for Christmas? A bicycle helmet he'll wear on the ride home? Hmmm.

It's probably a good thing that I go to the ballet only once a year because now, on top of everything, I have the Chia Pet ditty resonating in my head, "Ch-ch-ch-Chia!"


www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

And The Winner Is...

I have some very exciting news. For the first time ever the Blog of Bex is giving out an award . Yes, I know. I can feel my heart pounding, too. I will call it the Bite My Ass Award (BMAA) and I'm sure it will be coveted. Now you might be wondering just who will be the lucky recipient. Could it be Diesel, the mastermind of Humor-Blogs and Mattress Police , who - for reasons unknown to me - revamped the scoring system and and reset my score to zero? Nope. This action has actually mysteriously seemed to work in my favor. I'm sure it's temporary. ANYWAY, on to the big news. I hereby give my BMAA to this guy: Handsome little fucker, isn't he? His name is James Jackson, IV and his friends call him Jay. I like to call him Fucktard because I believe that your name should say something about the kind of guy you are. And he's a total fucktard. What, you may wonder, did he do to generate such ire from me? Well I'm so glad you asked. He owns two boutiques in suburban At...

Pervy McPervert strikes again!

When I was a kid I used to make the occasional prank call. But then I turned 13 and decided that it was a fairly retarded way to spend ones time. I've also received a few "heavy breathing" calls in my day. My mom finally bought us a whistle and said that whenever "he" called that we were to blow the whistle as loud as we could into the phone. That worked although I do wish she had specified that before blowing the whistle I should take the receiver away from my head as my ear made this weird ringing noise for days afterward. But it got rid of the pervert. It's a new day, however, and perverts must be looking for new ways to annoy us. Twice today someone has texted a picture to me. I have no idea who he is or what the hell he wants. But he must think that I don't know that sometimes shirtless men squeeze their arms against their chest to give the appearance that they actually have biceps when, in fact, their arms really look like toothpicks that are broke...

Protesting at Funerals: A Look at the Deranged and Demented

I normally like to write about funny things. (At least they are things that I find funny.) They are usually attempts to be funny in a ha-ha kind of way, although sometimes I will throw in something that's funny in a weird way, just to shake things up. But what I want to write about now isn't funny at all. It is shocking and horrific. There was a girl from my home town who was murdered at Auburn University last week. Her name was Lauren Burk and she was 18. She went to our local high school and although I didn't know her many of my friends children did. She's being buried today. Her family is, naturally, heartbroken. It was a random, tragic and violent attack. That's really bad enough. My husband drove by the funeral home yesterday and noticed that there was a small army of Harley Davidson riders holding American flags. They appeared to be guarding the memorial service. It turns out that they were asked to be there to protect the family because a group called the We...