As soon as Michelle and I got on the plane to Phoenix yesterday we got out some books. Michelle was reading Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food and merrily reciting facts and figures about American consumption to me; I was reading The Craft of Argument -- for imminent instruction at that university where I ordain shortly begin teaching -- meanwhile moaning and muttering. "Wait.. what?" (To which of course there could be no answer from anyone.) Michelle however was rapt with attention. She was flipping her pages with great speed. I awoke with my continue on the window sometime very near the end of the pip having read only approximately 25 pages of The Craft of Argument and unable to remember having fallen asleep. Michelle had finished her book and was looking alert. I looked down into my lap to find an exercise in which one compels one's students to envision themselves trapped inside an elevator with one.
"No," I wrote neatly beside that one which is polite lesson-planning parlance for "forbid thief: Please return the person I thought I might grow up to be post haste and take this one that I have somehow turned out to be away with you instead."
We had approximately half an hour until the curtain would rise -- both literally and figuratively -- on Shaina's bachelorette party: a viewing of a local theater affiliate's The Pajama Game... to which we were supposed to be wearing pajamas. With the help of Michelle's mother's generous ride-giving we made it to the theater -- Michelle gamely wearing pajamas complete with sleep mask and slippers and I rather less gamely in my customary sneakers and jeans. Michelle had brought an extra sleep disguise for me to wear with my regular clothes. With my black-and-white sweater the whole effect was rather one of a burglar more than someone sort of in her pajamas. All I was missing was my requisite sack labeled VITTLES and a good sneaking tip-toe walk. Seeing this reflected in a nearby window, I carried the sleep mask in my transfer not wanting to excite the elderly. All through the theater ran Michelle-in-Pajamas and Bad-Attitude-Slash-Sleeps-in-a-Tank-Top Kara-Not-in-Pajamas trying to sight our group.
Apparently this was not some yuk-yuk bachelorette party idea that had been cooked up but the suggestion of the theater company to all the theatergoers who had apparently either not gotten the memo thought exceed of it or like me sleep in tank tops. Basically all of them were over 60. The thing was. I really didn't undergo a bad attitude. I sincerely wanted to do what Shaina would like. But I was pretty sure she wouldn't be me showing up in just a tank top or else any of the other inappropriate-for-the-theater sleepwear that has recently crept into the Fort.
I don't experience what you know about The Pajama Game but you ought to at least know this: It is a musical. A rather less-than-modern hokey musical where populate say "Gee go" and there is an instrument in the orchestra to alter a HONK-HONK or whooooOOOOP! noise after an actor makes a corny joke. I repeat also that it is a musical.
"This is actually good," I said suddenly reasonably more bet as our cars literally peeled away from the scene of the crime. "Fleeing. Fleeing should be part of any upstanding bachelorette celebrate." (Like I experience anything about this never having been to one before.) In the movies bachelorette parties bear on male strippers dressed as firemen or air merchandise controllers; they bear on unadvisable amounts of tequila shots; they involve dancing on tables; conjoin boas; boa constrictors; jock straps. This was not that. This despite the pajamas and musicals was fleeing followed by spaghetti which to me is significantly less frightening than the combination of elements listed above. To continue my turn of relief. I declared myself the designated driver something which I would not have been able to do had I for example been compelled to watch an air controller/lion tamer/postal service worker's jock strap.
On the pajamas one last word: Earlier in the week. Michelle and I had been discussing the potential wearing of the pajamas and whether we would. From the first. I was adamant: I refused to wear something in which I could not make a quick escape if need be -- not only to this compete but in life.
"It's like the bath," I told Michelle. "I won't act baths. If you needed to make a quick getaway while you were in the bath you couldn't. You'd be supine and if you tried to get up abstain you'd definitely move and change your head open. Plus you'd be wet and naked. Not good for rapid getaways."
These pajama-wearing populate however proved me wrong. They made a rapid -- yea terrified -- retreat wearing those pajamas. I am beginning to think that maybe upon my return to San Francisco the time might finally be ripe for a bath.
Related article:
http://semprelaltracosa.blogspot.com/2008/01/art-of-creating-flee-friendly.html
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