It's no secret that I am in love with Wicked. In. Love. It's the absolute best show & I am over the moon in love with Elphaba. Wait. I'm not in love with Elphaba. I have morphed myself into Elphaba because being in love with her just isn't enough. I had to be her.
Seriously. If I'm not the Queen of Hearts, then I'm Elphaba. Depends on the day.
Paint & drums were such a small part of the show, I don't know why that's all I knew of them. The things they did were so funny & so...I was in awe. I think every single person should be required to see them at least once in their life. It should be written into the Constitution or the Ten Commandments. Or something.
They do a skit where they name about 150 (I didn't actually count) words (mostly unheard of before) for "butt". I shall forever call it a sit biscuit from this day forward. I think that is the most awesome slang for "butt" that I have ever heard in my life.
It's growing on you, isn't it?
It's odd how once you're married with children it's no longer just a date. It's a Date Night. The hubs & I both brought children into this marriage, yet before we got married, we dated. We went on dates. We were dating. Now it's Date Night.
Maybe because we need to make sure others realize how rare & important it is for us to get time alone that we give it its own title. It's not just a date. It's a Date Night. Aka We're FREEEEE!!!!!! night.
Then I came home to 2 disturbing items. Oh, such disturbing items.
The first was just as bad as finding something with wings & feet in my house. Which is worse than finding a robber in my house. I'm a redhead who has taken self-defense classes & has a lot of pent up stress to let loose. A robber should be more scared of running into me than the other way around.
I turned on the bedroom light switch, which is conveniently not actually in, you know...the bedroom. It's in the laundry room. 2 doorways away from my bedroom. Yeah. Makes sense to me too.
So I turn on the light, turn around, walk towards my room. My left foot is outside the bedroom door, my right foot is up in the air, ready to be put down on the floor in the bedroom doorway...when...I see it. I scream hubby's name & do a cartwheel backwards out of the room. Into the furnace closet. No lie.
The hubs is well trained on my scream. He came running. I told him, or rather shrieked at him, "Get it out! Get! It! Out!"
I love my cats. I love that they kill mice. I just wish they never, ever, ever, never had to do it.
They killed a mouse & laid it by my bed. Right now I would like to insert a whole string of naughty words but I'll leave that to your imagination. Mice are up on the phobia scale with wings & feet. I can't handle seeing them. I totally, completely freak the fudge out. I scream. I jump on high furniture. I yell at people not to throw it at me (which no one has ever done but I have no control out of what comes out of my mouth when confronted with a phobia). I lose my mind.
After I made hubby look at the walls for holes & under the bed for any mouse brothers & it was determined my bedroom was safe for me to enter, I finally came out of my corner by the garage.
It wasn't even 10 minutes later when hubby came into the bedroom & asked me why I had such a sad face. I honestly didn't know I had a sad face. But he came over to my laptop to see what I was looking at that made me so sad.
I was looking at a picture on The Facebook.
It was of a female. A very pretty teen girl wearing a football player's jersey. With her arms around the player that owns that jersey. At my son's game.
My son was the owner of that jersey. And he had his arms around her too. And he's...get this...smiling. Not a "Mom You're Taking Too Many Pictures" or a "Mom Do I Have To Stand Next To You?" smile that I usually see.
This isn't just a regular hug or smile either. This was a Hug & a Smile. This was A Teenage Boy Hugging a Cute Blonde smile.