Thursday, October 15, 2009
I have just sacrificed my darling family to the Gods of Radio City. Sarge will be crushed between the iron thighs of the Rockettes. Hedgie will be paralyzed by the flashing lights. And my mother-in-law, whose idea this was, will delight in everyone's misery.
Everyone's misery but mine, that is. I was in charge of procuring the tickets this morning. How many tickets do you think I purchased? Four, as I was supposed to? No. I purchased three. The MIL doesn't know it yet, but I am not going, and that is now a fait accompli.
I'm posting this in my series of things that make me happy, because not going to the Christmas Spectacular makes me happy, so happy. But more than that, the idea of the Christmas Spectacular, to which I am not going, fills me with a weird cheer. As long as I don't have to be in the audience, the thought of all that utterly insane, over-the-top faux Christmas coming at you like a bad acid trip is funny! Even more, the thought of Sarge, dignified, masterful Sarge, sitting third row center, gritting his teeth, gripping the seat, and praying for Death's sweet release, well, that's funny too!
I'm so sorry, Sarge. You know how much I love you. I would do anything for you. Anything in the world, that is, but take your seat at the Christmas Spectacular.
Let's just call it my own special form of psychological bondage and discipline.
I know I'll be paying eventually, but oh is it worth it.