Friday, November 04, 2016

Middle of the Road

We got tickets to one of those emerging theater shows that could easily spiral into a hot mess. The risk adds allure. So does the single digit ticket price. Tom looks around and says, "If it weren't for that guy behind us, I'd say we are the oldest people here."

He chews on this observation for awhile. "Usually, when it comes to the theater, we're middle of the road, age-wise. Some old people, some whippersnappers. Not tonight."

I decide to take a wide-angle selfie to document, for the record, that we are not the oldest ones in attendance:

Old guy photobombs fake selfie.

The old guy's fast, I'll give him that, the altacocker.

But. Nobody in the audience cracks up when an actor mentioned "Bats Benatar" and the band kicks into a monster-mash banjo version of "We Belong to the Night."

Furthermore, an actress dressed up as your grandma sitting on a chair perched on a table talking to a puppet says, "The child is sick, we need to go to the hospital!"

And the puppet says, "What is it?"

And Grandma says, "Oh it's a big building filled with sick people."

And Tom snickers and I snicker and everyone else in the whole place clearly does not get the obvious Airplane shout out. We're surrounded by dead silence.

Evidently, we are old enough to remember, but not that old. Middle of the road, I'd say-- if you take the mean and not the average.



NaBloPoMo November 2016
Day 4
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