You can know anything. It's all there. You just have to find it.

-Neil Gaiman

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Monday, May 19, 2008

Fragile...

Last Saturday we went to the Guthrie to see A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was fantastic; I knew the play but had not seen it live. I was hoping it would be good and wasn't disappointed. The first play we saw of this theater season was Peer Gynt. It was bad... super boring. I was wondering if it was just me; I was yawning and Matt was shifting in his seat like he was auditioning for a Preparation H commercial. The actors were good - it just was a boring play. Then we saw Jane Eyre and enjoyed it; that is one of my favorite novels. But this was, by far, the best play I had ever seen, of course it helps that it's a comedy.
Near the end, when the characters are performing their play for the king and queen was so funny I gave myself the hiccups. If you are thinking of seeing the show, do it. Great costumes, great music, a donkey, a lion, fairies, men in drag, and even a disco ball. You can't go wrong with that.

Before the show we stopped at the Local for fish and chips and Guinness. I ordered a glass of wine. "I would like the Pinot Grigio. Fra..." I stopped.
"Fra.. Ba..." I stopped again.
"Fro - Bowl - Lo." I finally did it.
The waitress gave me a pitying look. "You mean, the ONLY Pinot Grigio on the list?"
"Yes."
She left and made me feel dumb. My sister-in-law Becca says, "I'm so proud of you for sounding it out."
"Thanks." I felt a little better.

I have this problem a lot. I see a word and immediately make up a sound for it. When it's wrong I have a hard time saying it right after that. Whenever I see the word, "sword" I immediately think, "SWoooooaard." I can't help it. Everytime I see a box stamped fragile, I think, "Fraaageeelay. It must be Italian." A la Christmas story. I say it to whomever is around. I say it to the UPS guy when he drops off a box. I say it to Matt and he looks away, pretending to not know me. I even say it aloud when I'm alone. Then I laugh.

But the best example I ever heard was Becca's husband Peter, who asked her, in a very nice restaurant as they were ordering their meal, if he liked, "Shit-takes."
"What?"
"Shit-takes. Do I like Shit-takes?"
"You mean....Sheee-tah-keys?"
"Ohhhhhh."

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