At Least They're Committed

I got to be a princess yesterday (Saturday). Well, yes, I suppose it started Friday even before I got my birthday lunch — which was nice and less awkward than most. And this in spite of my insurance calling Friday afternoon and saying it wouldn’t cover my  Chrysler Sebring 2004 convertible because it had been in an accident and it doesn’t take imperfect vehicles. It mattered to me not, especially since Lance said he has one and they’re great cars.

But I’ve gotten ahead of myself.

Danielle called me Friday morning saying she had an extra ticket to The Book of Mormon and she knows Saturday is the day when I help watch Dez, but . . .  “Yes!” I couldn’t say it loud or fast enough. “Yes! I’ll fix it so I can go!” So excited!

And it was worth every minute of having to make it up to your grandpa later. The production was funny and irreverent and Danielle, Paula, Lance and I were in the orchestra seats — I counted seven rows back if that — and we saw these young performers’ expressions to the very slightest twitch and it was most certainly a production you’d want to be up close for, because the talent was immense but most likely not as apparent from much farther back. Danielle wouldn’t let us pay her back for the tickets. I love that woman and nothing I have ever and will ever be able to do for her will ever repay her for the friendship and support she has given me.

And so we laughed and we squealed and having beloved Mormon relatives there were times I gasped and cupped my hands over my mouth; other times when I laughed the loudest. But it was brilliant and delightful for all in the theater.

We went to dinner afterward at Rioja’s, which I’d only been to for lunch once with Charlotte and Danielle (my birthday lunch 2006) and a few times for happy hour with Ellen. And I was poised and ready to buy Danielle’s dinner since she’d so graciously bought my ticket to the play, yet I picked up quickly as Lance whispered to the waitress that he’d had the same plan. So I was poised to pounce … Two bottles of wine, the special cheese plate, two bowls of the bacon, scallop, truffle and cauliflower soup, Danielle got the chicken with jalapeno bread pudding, Paula got the artichoke tortelloni, I got the seared sea scallops and Lance got the Brou-something-or-other steak, I knew I was going to be dipping into my insurance money, but I didn’t care.

I’d done my hair, put on my “date” make-up, worn comfy-yet-fashionable boots (I know they are fashionable because, Dez, your mom picked them out for me) and it was such an unexpected and welcome reprieve from life. I didn’t care what cost.

Plus I’d heard so much about Lance and I was very excited to meet him. He is dashing and handsome to the point where I was self-conscious about what fork I should use at dinner, but then he said he was tempted to pick up the cheese plate and lick the remnants and I laughed and said I was glad he’d said it because I was thinking it and I realized he wasn’t so different from me — other than being a Nebraska fan. And his story about trying to figure out how to start his new BMW was hilarious and the evening was relaxed and playful and fun.

And he refused to let me help him pay not only for Danielle’s dinner, but for all of our dinners. I said, “At least please let me pay  half!” He wouldn’t have it. Such a gentleman!

I rode the bus downtown (free) and at the end of the performance when the performers asked for donations for AIDS relief and Project Angel Heart I quickly dropped in a $20 and thanked the young “missionary” for a remarkable performance.

And I got to be a princess. For one day, I got to be a princess.

I came home, aching from all the walking and yet so energized and elated. And I crawled on the floor with you, Dez, and you sat on my lap and ripped the “flaps” out of your new peek-a-boo book and read to me words that all end in “ght’ and “tch” and I knew I had to remember this day because there was nothing better.

I was a princess.