The Nutcracker – Dress Rehearsal 2016
“You looked great up there.”
“For someone more than twice as old as the principals from New York City Ballet.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I did. We’ve been married ten years longer than they’ve been alive.”
“So, it’s good that you looked great up there on the same stage with them.”
“Mmm. I’m not so sure how great I looked.”
“I have pictures.”
“You weren’t supposed to take pictures.”
“No flash. How long have I been doing this?”
“We just had that discussion.” She flipped the visor down, opened the mirror. “Anyway, my costume is a blue velvet corset I’m cinched into. And I have my extra nylon hair.” She put the ringlets in a large zip lock, stuffed them in the dance bag then dumped fifteen bobby pins that would stay in the cup holder on her side of the console until the next trip to the free vacuums at the car wash. Or we bought drive-thru coffee in her car. Or she ran out of bobby pins.
“You still looked great.”
“The secret is old lady ballerina make up.” She peeled off one eyelash that would have made Dolly Parton envious, blinked in the mirror.
“I didn’t know they made that.”
“Oh, they make it, alright.” The other eyelash came off, got stuck to a small piece of white cardboard with the first one, wrapped in wax paper, dropped in a make up bag. She blinked again. Her own lipstick had come out and she did that thing women do with lipstick and a car vanity mirror.
“What’s in it that makes it so special?”
“Spackling.” She rubbed her lips together, checked the mirror, smiled. “And formaldehyde.”
Go see The Nutcracker, wherever you are, whoever is doing it. It’s good for you. Trust me, I’ve seen it more than a couple of times and it hasn’t killed me. Yet.