Yesterday we attended a matinee performance of Ballet West’s The Nutcracker. Dancing Daughter has a good role as a Party Girl in the annual performance. Mr. Collins was thrilled beyond belief at this opportunity to attend a function where men wear tights and little is left to the imagination, including those abovementioned “nuts.”
After the first fifteen minutes, he was ready to carve his own eyes out with a dull spoon. It would have been less painful. Incidentally, Dancing Daughter is in the first fifteen minutes. He had another hour and forty-five minutes to endure, minus the fifteen minute intermission.
I tried to ease his agony by pointing out plot points, and also dancers we knew who were performing, but to no avail. The Nutcracker was a painful experience for him, and not just because of the name. He has requested she not try out next year. Like that’s gonna happen.
Also present was DD’s older sister, Chatter Child, who brought along a friend. Both 14, they were fixated on the men in tights. They could not look away, and yet they were repelled by the sight. They are still at that age when staring at a man’s, er, bulge is unnatural and disgusting–PRAISE JESUS–and they simply couldn’t pay attention to the marvelous dancing. At least when the men in tights were out there.
The comment, “Eww, Mom, that is just not natural,” struck me as rather amusing.
“Actually,” I said, “It’s pretty natural. Just about as close as you get to natural without going naked.”
This was followed by a whole chorus of “Ewwwwws.”
We have to get our kicks somewhere.