Last night, my husband finally gave me my birthday present.
My birthday is January 10th.
For my birthday this year, he asked me what I wanted and I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted something that he and I could do together. Something different. I wanted a season subscription to the B Street Theatre. I grew up acting and going to the theater. I like original, well-acted stuff that I haven’t seen a million times. I’m not a huge musical theater fan, which seems to be what Sacramento mostly supplies to the theater-going-crowd. I like the original, intimate, slightly stuffy and stale atmosphere of the B Street.
Paul doesn’t love theater. He tolerates it. On rare occasions. Usually when there is singing and dancing taking place on the stage.
But, he manned up and got me the tickets. Last night was our first show, Almost, Maine (it was great, I recommend it).
Last night was our first show. Yes, Tuesday. Not Friday. Not Saturday. Tuesday.
Here’s why…Tuesday nights are the only nights that they run an early show (6:30). This means, we can strike a deal with our daycare provider who will extend her hours (with some extended pay) and watch the girls. We both work downtown, so this is much more convenient. We can leave them at daycare without having to run around after work only to have to rush back downtown for the show. Last night, he picked me up from work, we hit Thai Basil for dinner, and then went to the theater. We got there a little early, so Paul bought us some wine and popcorn (yes, a true date night) and we took a seat in the foyer.
Hardly anyone was there.
As a former actor, I started to feel bad for the players. I knew the season had just started and I was hoping things would fill up. It’s a small space, and a half-empty house (especially a comedy) can make things tough on the actors. I also knew that an empty house would confirm Paul’s (non-verbalized) suspicion that a season subscription was a waste of time and money. Clearly if no one was there, the plays couldn’t be that good.
And then they started to arrive. All of them, with their white hair, their champagne-colored sedans, their AARP cards.
Yes..we had purchased a season subscription for a night of the week that targeted the senior citizen audience. You know, seniors…the demographic that prefers to be in bed by 8:00 PM and up by 5:00 AM every day. Now Paul and I aren’t young. I’m 35 and he’s 43. But last night…well, last night, we felt like nubiles. There were groups of 60-something women, outfitted in head-to toe-Chicos, guzzling white wine at the counter, chatting and cackling with each other. There were pairs of senior couples double-dating. Most of the men were noticeably shorter and thinner than their wives.
But the one unifying characteristic among them all…comfortable shoes. All of them were wearing comfortable shoes. The men were all in loafers or those weird-1980s-nurse-sneakers. The women were all wearing comfortable looking Easy Spirit-esque sandals. Most of them open-toed with pantyhose. You know the look.
There wasn’t a heel or a French-manicured toenail in sight (except for mine).
Because the “comfy” couches in the foyer were very, very low, Paul and I were almost at eye level with the seniors and their shoes.
We were cracking up. Here we were on our big “date night” surrounded by what could have easily been a group outing from a snazzy retirement community from Boca Raton.
We enjoyed the show and even stayed at the end for “Improv with the Interns” that took place after the play ended. Again, much to Paul’s chagrin. But, he knew as a former improv actor I would want to stay. And he was right. Tuesday nights are the only nights they do the improv, because, well, the show ends so early.
We finally made our way out the car at the late hour of 8:50, picked up the girls, and went home.
The first thing I did was kick off my heels. I had been wearing them for 14 straight hours.
