I sometimes catch myself looking at a person and wondering if they’ve ever been to a musical. Not on it, in it.
Because how many do we pass by in the streets as we juggle our hot cuppas, as we ignore the world with tunes blasting from our headsets, that have been in a musical? Last night, I had the privilege of watching my puppies-before-anything friend’s first time to watch a musical in her twenty-three years of living. And whatever musical it had been, it had to be something that will amaze her, wow her, and shut her splendid in spectacular fashions.
“Colourful,” she says, without ambiguity. It seemed most appropriate with a set so dressed and a stage lit with the ambience of every Disney film we ever loved (still do).
Tragically, I remembered when we booked our tickets months before – May, if I recall correctly. You ask, “Why the long wait?” Because patience is a virtue among those who wait. It yields results contrary to spontaneity that can either equal wondrous or disastrous. There’s never an in-between.
We wanted to be safe and go for the wondrous. We sat in the stalls, very much near the orchestra pit and there were no barriers hingeing our desire to see the stage in all its glory. And glory we did! (I still have tears in my eyes.) But I digress.
The tragedy was our trio reduced to a duo. The 1/3 of our group decided that it best to buy herself some exorbitantly expensive shoes to trample on than sit amidst a crowd to ooh and ahh and gasp at the tumbling acrobats.
Will I forgive said friend for the ditch?