Uncle June Dreams the Dream

For purposes of this post, I’m going to request that you pronounce the word “theatre” as “THE-a-tah” so that we can sound fancy and class.

Let’s sip our tea with our pinkies in the air and begin.

Christmas morning will be lame in the gift department this year, as I’ve pretty much given my mom her gifts already. Along with the book, I bought us tickets to see Les Miserables last week—our absolute favorite show of all time.

(If you’ll remember, I’ve had the songs memorized since I was a mini-Lovely Lady.)

So last week we geared up to go see the show, and I’ll tell you right now that it was phenomenal. There really are no words. We’ve both seen it a couple times before, but this production was amazing. That’s the end of my review, as this post is not about the show itself. 

Plus, you know, there are no words.

While I was excited to go, I was also slightly dreading it for a couple of reasons. One being the fact it was a weeknight and interrupting my normal routine in which I do nothing of significant importance except maybe work out, possibly write some drivel, run errands and bond with my couch before going to bed at 10 so I can get up at 5. 

In other words, OCD.

But the main reason was that it’s a THREE HOUR show. 

Three hours, people! I can sit for about 1 1/2 in one spot without having to get up and move, so three hours in the cramped quarters of the theatre (pronunciation!) was a task comparable to breaking through the barricades myself.

However, ‘tis the season for sacrifice and culture—and using the word “tis”—so I anxiously went, sat and thoroughly enjoyed my experience, an experience that almost didn’t happen due to my mom’s insistence on the addition of one thing—Uncle June.

It’s an old picture, but you get the idea. 

It started with a text message from my mom about how she had nothing to wear. I had no sympathy, seeing as she still has a gift card to Kohl’s — we know how that went. The text came while I was eating, something she knows is strike one (do not interrupt my meals), but I know she was excited so this behavior was excused.

I texted her back about how no one cares what we wear to the theatre (pronunciation!), that I was eating and that I would see her in 30 minutes. Approximately 2.3 seconds later I heard the “ting” of my phone once again and this text exchange began:

Mom: Uncle June wants to go to the show! Bring Uncle June so he can “Hear the People Sing!”

Me: Ha! (Thinking she was kidding and trying to be polite, seeing as I was eating. See rule above.)

Mom: No, I’m serious. Bring Uncle June. I want to take his picture at the show.

Me, realizing she was entering crazy mode: Mom, I’m not bringing a pocket gnome to the theatre. Or my camera, since they’re not allowed. I’ll see you in a bit.

Mom: If he doesn’t go, I’m not going. I’m not kidding either. Bring Uncle June.

Me, realizing she was progressing into stubborn bitch mode, and leaning that way myself: No gnome. Zip it. I’ll see you in a bit.

Then my phone rang, the sound of which filled every cell of my being with the urge to fling the damn phone out into my backyard, a yard several small woodland creatures are currently “occupying” with small picket signs in a show of solidarity again my bird seed of choice.

The details of said phone conversation are not important, as she hung up on me. So I called again, and to avoid another tantrum I relented and told her Uncle June could go if she would a) shut up about it b) take responsibility for him and c) promise to be on her best behavior.

Summary: I am a 30 year old woman who had to bribe her mom with a gnome.

So we  left, her bouncing in the passenger’s seat with excitement, gnome securely placed in her purse. All was going well until I went to use the bathroom before they started seating, leaving my mom in the crowded lobby.

Upon my return I found her propping Uncle June up on a lobby chair, artfully arranging him with the program and ticket stub for his impromptu photo shoot. She had no camera, but she had her phone, a phone that doesn’t have Internet to transfer the photo for others to see.

But she also had a group of elderly patrons gathered around watching this woman take a picture of a gnome with the camera on her phone.

This was taken at home, not at the theatre.

Like I said, there are no words.

This post was partly based of the Studio 30 Plus prompt this week:

The Gift

It was also partly based on the fact that I took my mom to Les Miserables as part of her Christmas gift and she refused to go unless I brought a gnome—mostly that.

Speaking of gifts: Buy the Book. Save a Kitten.