Theater and Tedium

It was no secret that Chris was forced into this weekend.

With arms crossed triumphantly, I declared, “Chris, Catherine is in a play. We are attending on Sunday. You will go.”
The End. Doggone it, I love it when I actually take charge for a second. Just once in while, it’s nice to have the last word . . . but I didn’t . . .
“What’s the play?”
“The Little Mermaid.”

Chris stops shooting pixelated zombies for just a split second to glare at me. “You’re kidding, right?”“No.”

The computer’s undead hordes don’t stand a chance against his newfound fervor.

“I hate musicals, Sarah.”“Because, apparently, you lack a soul.”

While most people would see this as a wounding insult, moments like these are actually when we show our profound adoration for each other.  We are hardly more loving than when we’re teasing, trying to frown but smiling the whole time.  So, really, my accusation of “You don’t have a soul” is really “Oh, you sexy, sexy beast.” We’re like spies that way: we speak in code.

“Chris, please? It’s Catherine’s first big play at her new high school, and we’re moving, soon.  I know you swore never to go to a play with me again—”
“Oh, yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

Last fall, there was an incident involving The Complete Works of William Shakespeare: Abridged.  My sweet and compromising husband agreed to accompany me to the little theater, and, suddenly, there occurred a moment of audience participation . . . and said hubs was on the stage.  He’d rather have his teeth pulled than do anything than draw attention to himself in a crowd.  When he returned to his seat, he grinned, looked me in the eye, and said, “Never. Again.”
And that was that.
But, then again, the theater doesn’t usually have my family members prancing on stage, so this, of course, would qualify as the exception to the rule, right?

“Chris, it’s my sister. Family goes to things like this to show love and support, EVEN if you don’t like it. Please?”

My husband stands in the midst of a mountain of killed-again corpses, and, with a sigh, turns to face me, his next great challenge. I'd like to think I'm more forbidable than a zombie apopcolypse, but who am I kidding?  

“Fine. I’ll go."
"YAY!!! Thank you, honey!"
 What’s Catherine’s part, again?”
*Pause*
“Some sort of sea plant.”
“Seriously?”
“What? Didn’t you play a wall once?”
“A brick, actually, when I was like six.”
Now, I laugh. “Good Lord! A plant! Catherine is playing a plant!”

Yes, I’m a horrible sister. I really am.  I wanted to support my sixteen-year-old sis because I love her dearly . . . but, I’m sorry, I also REALLY wanted to see her play a plant.  

Ok, so TECHNICALLY she was a sea anenome, but she did a lovely job dancing and twirling on stage during "Under the Sea." Isn't she cute??

I'm not going to lie: I feel a piece of my life is complete having taken this picture

Sadly for Chris, this production did not encourage a new appreciation for musical theater. In fact, he tried to sleep for most of it, but, I'm proud to say, that he was wide awake and grinning for Catherine's bit of glory.

So, the weekend ended, and now I’m struggling through the work week.  My latest major project? Transporting mounds of paper from old file folders into new ones.  Did you know that trying to wade through an overstuffed filing cabinet can feel like wrestling a bear? I worked for six hours and got halfway through the C’s. SIX. HOURS. Working in a drawer almost as tall as I am, squeezed against the wall on my tiptoes to peek into each file, shoving files aside and shoving new ones in, with barely room to move.  Tedium. It infuriates.   

Do you go to any events for family that you wouldn’t normally attend on your own? Do you convince your spouse/significant other to go along?  

Oh, and P.S. Happy 60th birthday to my sweet Daddy! Technically, it was last Wednesday on Talk Like a Pirate Day (Arrrg!), and, since it IS a milestone and I DO love him oh so much, I' thought I'd give a little blog shout out . . . because he's awesome. That, and I can't believe he's sixty! Totally doesn't act or look his age at all! He's the best!

From our Father-Daughter dance at my wedding ("Unfrogettable" by Frank Sinatra)--even though this was three years ago, he still hasn't aged a BIT since his forties . . . maybe even thirties . . . :]