I’m glowing. There are stars in my eyes. I’m humming under my breath, and I’ve got a silly, satisfied grin on my face.
I just watched On A Clear Day You Can See Forever on DVD, starring Barbra Streisand and Yves Montand. God, how I hate musicals. I’m so easily caught up in the fantasy.
Because I was practically fed musicals along with my mother’s milk, on some unrealistic layer of this onion that is me, I actually believe that it’s possible that someday some man will be so passionate about me that he’ll burst into song. I believe that I’m thin, and I wear elaborate, color-coordinated outfits that flow as I move, and hats not only are back in style, but they actually fit my head.
Musicals make me believe that I’m young and beautiful and charming and that one of these days while I’m at work here on the drawbridge, Yves Montand is going to float down the canal on a yacht that’s overflowing with flowers, and he’ll be singing his proposal to me, and we’ll float away together, happily ever after, financially secure in our low carb bliss. Oh, and I’ll actually be able to dance.
Yeah, musicals are like cocaine. I’ll be high from this hit for the rest of the day, probably. But the high never lasts. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and look in the mirror and the see reality of my grey hair and my double chin surrounded by the seemingly vast expanse of my man-less house.
Reality ought to be fine, and a lot of the time it is, actually. But it will always come with a slight bitter aftertaste that makes me feel like this feast of life isn’t quite as satisfying as it’s supposed to be.
Musicals are evil.
Ooh! I haven’t seen My Fair Lady in a while! Maybe I’ll watch that next.