Tonight was opening night for Ira David Wood’s A Christmas Carol. The girls and I do enjoy participating in this special Raleigh tradition.
Although I wouldn’t trade anything for the experience, I don’t think I’m going to pursue acting as a full-time career. There are just a couple of things that make me thankful I work at the Y and not on Broadway.
Now I’m all about a costume, and in this play, I’m hooked up. My on stage 19th century family is The Knife Grinders. Yes, I get to carry a huge stick with convincingly real looking knives dangling from the top. And, I get to wear a cape – which makes me feel like Dracula, which for some odd reason I really enjoy.
But in the second act, I transform into a dancer at a very festive party. Although I’m smiling on the outside, my insides are quite out of sorts.
Like Beryshnicov, my role requires me to don tights. They are hell to get on. And once over my knees, they knot my boxers up like the balled up paper wads we used to toss at each other in Mr. Green’s seventh grade general science class.
My undergarments are twisted and turned in every direction all smashed together by the elasticity of the hose.
On top of those two items come the elastic waist knickers complete with suspenders to ensure that the pants stay on the body as I gracefully leap through the air.
As I froze on stage, the entre into the festivities of Act II, I realized that the elastic of my boxers were in my southern hemisphere, the elastic from the tights were on the equator and the knickers had ridden up to the north pole! I felt like Saturn, all sorts of rings around my body. It threw my concentration off terribly. My personality demands organization in my pants. I cannot dance with my innerwear all discombobulated.
And once it was over, I had to go to the bathroom. Jiminy Christmas, it took me 8 minutes to find my parts. Have you ever really needed to go and been constrained like that? It’s claustrophobic. I nearly had a panic attack right there in front of the urinal. I got both hands stuck in my pants and couldn’t move. Felt like a straight jacket.
The strength of my hosiery was also alarming. When I pulled them down, they clenched my knees together like I had leg lock jaw. I had to roll them down as if I was making a snake out of Play Dough to get them off.
On the bright side, spreading my thighs ten times gave me the workout of a lifetime. What a great way to tone up below the waist.
I actually find it hard to believe that men in that era actually wore this stuff. I mean, I thought they were tough.
Nah, they were just like us – I imagine they did whatever their wives told them to do.
“Archibald, I’d liketh for you to wear tights with your knickers tonight. The neighbors are coming over for goose.”
“Do I haveta Clementine?”
“Archibald Nimrod Finnamore. Putteth on ye tights!”
“Oh, and would you slaughter a pig as well?”
I can’t dance for two minutes in the things. Imagine what they had to do in them!
Thank goodness men came to their senses.
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