Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Monday, June 09, 2008

A Star Is Born (AGAIN! - I say that every year, don't I? Tell me if it's getting old hat)

Dearest Darls,

You are quite brilliantly litty and witerate, even in the throes of a vile hangover. (Who the hell invented hangovers anyway? I think the culprit should be hung, drawn and quartered at dawn. With bells on.)

Needless to say, I am exhausted today, hot and sweaty from the humid weather and suffering severe anti-climaxitis. Not in a sexual way, but in a "God, I love being on stage in front of 400 people, wearing heavy make-up and fun costumes, please don't ever let the glory end" kind of, sort of way.

The ballet (and modern jazz) recital was a ROARING success! The crowd loved us! Fellow forty-somethings told me I looked radiant! I only fluffed a few tiny steps, and the adoring fans apparently didn't notice, in all the flurry of costumes and my seven co-dancers, crammed together on a rather small stage.

At the end of both performances, a microphone was thrust into my hand and I was asked to do a farewell and thank you speech, as our President had lost her voice. I started with shaking knees and sweaty brow, but very quickly grew to love the attention (astonishing! I know!) and, after making the requisite list of thanks to sponsors, helpers, lighting technician, Chief Seamstress, local dignitaries, etc. etc., I simply could not resist throwing in a few jokes and improvised a short stand-up comedy routine.

Eventually the President and Treasurer were summoned to forcibly unprise my fingers from the mike and remove me bodily from the stage. I didn't leave without a fight. You would have been SO proud.

There will be a professional DVD of the whole event. Let's hope someone in my entourage will be clever enough to cut and paste my fancy bits into my blog. You know I can't be trusted with such a task. I'll be at it with scissors and sticky-tape.

Don't expect any downloading of photos to take place tonight. I'll be getting drunk on Champomy to celebrate my son's 14th birthday. Send me your hangover remedies asap.

Sequinned love and hairsprayed kisses,



P.S. I am not too tired however, to have fallen in love with you all over again in your pretty frock, and also with Mr. Mac in his Dudelsack. I have broken up with that writer chappie, and am sheepishly returning to your fond embrace.


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