April 11, 2006
The Show at Dame Edna's Show
The Friday before we left for Florida, Husband and I went to see "Dame Edna" with Garrance and K, their son A, and their friend Steve.
Now, we've seen Dame Edna before, when she was in town three years ago. The audience was a peculiar mix of raging queens and symphony season ticket holders. Needless to say, the two groups didn't mix much, and we had fun people-watching.
However, people-watching can have its drawbacks, as we were forced to watch the couple in front of us give each other tongue baths during the entire first act three years prior. At one point, I'm pretty sure he had his hand down her expensive, exquisitely tailored, lavender, silk pants.
In fact, they were both impeccably dressed, proving yet again that money can buy season tickets to the symphony, but it can't buy you a shred of decency. Money can also buy a nice hotel room near the theatre, which made us wonder -- loudly -- why they hadn't chose that option.
But our subtle hints weren't working, so K, who was directly behind them, leaned forward and said, "Excuse me. Could you stop making-out? It's hard for me to see the stage when you're two heads are together like that."
Well. The man blustered and huffed and postured and "I've never been so insulted in all my life!"
Yeah. Whatever. Like he lives a life of modest decorum. Thank God they didn't return for the second act.
Fast forward three years to several Fridays ago. The curse continued, striking K and all of us again at Dame Edna's show. And this time, in full view of the Dame herself.
See, Dame Edna interacts with her audience a LOT. In fact, she brings them up on stage, she interviews them, she calls their families. At one point, she even asked K if she'd had some "work" done. HA!
To facilitate this interaction, the house lights are up for much of the show, which means that Dame Edna -- and every one else -- can see exactly what's going on in the audience.
We were lucky to get second row seats. Or unlucky, if you count the number of times we saw up his/her dress. There was a couple on the aisle, and then the six of us, so we were practically center. Right to left, it was Couple Woman, Couple Man, Steve, K, Husband, Me, Garrance & A (yes, the same guy who let me use his Old Spice).
Now, about the couple on the end of our row.
She was... Ruebenesque. Okay, she was fat. Which, in itself, is no crime. But, Jeebus, that dress was. It was like someone put a whole watermelon harvest into a sack designed only to hold a dozen peaches. Or something. And the guy was about 20 years older than her.
Not far into the first act, K leans in, does the Pssst! thing and points towards the couple. The guy has a program unfolded in his lap. And not one of the big, glossy ones you buy for twenty bucks -- it was just a Playbill. The girl's hand was under the program, and program was bobbing rhytmically up and down.
For those who lack the power of mental visualization -- dude was getting a handjob in an elegant, downtown theatre, not twelve feet from the person performing on stage.
Perhaps his Viagra had kicked in too soon? Or perhaps it had lingered beyond that afternoon's romp? I don't know.
But I do know this. Handjobs are for high schoolers. Real women give blowjobs, and they don't give them in upscale theatres. They give them in normal places, like elevators, movie theatres and cop cars.
It wasn't long before we six had become as un-subtle as the couple themselves and were flagrantly gawking and pointing at them.
There were other people we knew in the theatre, too, but they were sitting in the pauper seats, i.e. the balcony. During intermission, K got up and waved frantically to get their attention. Once she suceeded, she pointed to the now-vacant seats of the handjob couple, made her hand into a loose fist, and pumped it wildly up and down.
PW: K! Jesus! The entire theatre is looking at you!
K: What! They don't know what I'm doing.
PW: That's, like, the international symbol for handjob! You think your five friends are the only ones in this theatre who know that?!
She's a classy broad, that K.
So, we reported the couple to the head usher... and to everyone seated around us. We had a good laugh, and the couple didn't come back for the second act.
I gotta say, there's only one man in the world I would give up $85 theatre tickets to have sex with. And that man is Bruce Campbell. And even then, I'd at least have the decency to take him to a men's room stall. Sheesh.
But weighing more heavily on my mind -- who gets aroused watching Dame Edna?
Comments
Ya know, I was wondering the same thing! *shudder* Dame Edna gives this guy wood? That's just.....
huh. Even I can't find the right descriptive word, and that is strange in itself.
I think you've traumatized me. Yeah, that's it.
PS: I love you.
Posted by: Scarlett Cyn at April 16, 2006 01:20 AM