...there's no people like show people/ they smile when they are low....
An expedition has been organized by the Prince. Attending are BuddahPat, Legs, Mo, Neicey, Birthday Boy, and me.
Or, if you will, Nixon, Tony, Heidi, Maureen, Barmaid, Drummer, and Playwright. The actress who played Rose Mary Woods is also in the audience, though not with us. The main attraction, who has a "featured chorus" role, played the Concierge. Watergate! attends Annie Get Your Gun.
Community theater makes me cringe on principle. Annie Get Your Gun makes me cringe, not just because of Native American slurs. I am increasingly glad I left the romantic love ballads out of Watergate! the Musical. I toyed with the idea of a romance between members of the hotel staff, discarded it as superfluous, even trivial.
The show runs three hours.
My irritation at critics who labeled my show "too long" rises.
I lean my head against BuddahPat's shoulder. Turn, catch a whiff of Neicey's sweet shampoo, shift the other way and Mo's fragrance embraces me.
Sigh relief, it's over; on to the important bit: pizza and beer. Lovely, both.
He lifts hem of shirt to clean glasses. A swirl of light hair around his navel uncurls into furry path that dives behind the waistband of boxer briefs. Unfocus eyes, move chin; won't do to be caught staring.