In November M revealed my big Christmas surprise, and Saturday was the big day. At noon I was off to a day spa where I was pampered and reminded once again (during the massage) that I hold a lot of tension between my shoulder blades. This is the third professional massage I’ve had, and it was the third time I’ve heard, “Wow!
You’ve got two big knots back here!”
(which reminds me. When I was a social worker I briefly considered becoming a mssage therapist so I could earn extra income on the weekends. But would I really have wanted to touch strangers, knowing that they are wearing little or nothing under that towel? If I am honest, HELL NO. I tried very hard not to be offensive in any way— showered, shaved, used deodorant—but I know that not everyone cares if they are offensive to the senses— and in fact, some people know
and don’t care
. There must be an entire class in massage therapy school dedicated to Handling Yucky People With Tact.)
So I was massaged and facialed and my fingernails were Connecticut Cranberried, and I briefly considered asking them if they had time to do makeup for me, but my manicurist was wearing scary purple eyeshadow and I was afraid that she might also be the makeup artist and would make me wear scary purple eyeshadow too, so I said nothing.
I really needed a new pair of black heels, since most of mine are too summery for December and the ones I wear to work are… dare I say it? A bit too librarian
. I wanted something sexy but comfortable. I tried to look for some during the Black Friday shopping
trip, but have you ever seen the shoe stores on Black Friday? Utter chaos. I took one look at the Lord & Taylor shoe department and fled in terror. After that I could not bring myself to shoe shop again and the librarian heels won by default.
We went to dinner on top of the Kennedy Center, which was lovely, and then headed to the show. The Nutcracker was fantastic, even better than last time. I actually cried when the dancers came out to take their final bow. Oh, how I wish I could dance like that.
We had very nice seats right by the stage, where we were surrounded by interesting characters. To my right there were two men who appeared to be a couple. One clapped very ethusiastically at the end of each solo and kept whispering “Fantastic!
”, while the other one sat and stared at the stage, wearing a surly expression on his face and periodically whispered “Shh!” to the other man. I noticed that the enthusiastic man kept glancing over at me, especially my fingernails. I thought about waggling my fingers at him and chirping, “It’s Connecticut Cranberry!”, but then I thought maybe he was really looking at my librarian heels and wondering why I don’t have better fashion sense.
Moments before they dimmed the lights, a very regal-looking woman swooped in with her handsome husband and two perfect children, wearing an emerald gown and a big fur cape. As she moved towards her seat she coolly appraised those around her and, apparently finding nothing worthy of her attention, allowed her husband to remove her cape so she could sit down. Her son and daughter giggled at something and the boy snorted a little as he laughed. I heard the woman say, “I did not
teach you that.” Her husband just sat there, probably trying to figure out how the hell he was going to escape the hundreds of dead minks that were piled on top of him. And also, perhaps, his bitchy wife.
The four seats to our left were empty for the first half of the show. At intermission a woman came in with three little girls and carrying a baby. There was a collective grumble all around when the baby was spotted. Fur Cape Ice Queen communicated with a single arch of her eyebrow her intention to instantaneously execute any unruly babies. Everyone stopped grumbling and shrank down in their seats in fear.
But the baby? Didn’t cry. Not once. She stood on her mother’s lap and stared raptly at the dancers on the stage. Once she giggled with delight during the Waltz of the Flowers and I would be shocked if the Queen’s icy heart didn’t melt just a little bit.
After the performance we went for drinks and I had an espresso martini. If you enjoy cocktails but drinking makes you too sleepy, an espresso martini might be the drink for you. I haven’t slept since last Friday!
Please Santa, send me some fabulous shoes. Because the librarian heels? Look even worse when I’m sleep deprived.