There I was; close enough to smell, to touch (provided I vaulted two rows of chairs). The air caught in my lungs, my heart whomped against my ribcage like a mallet covered with a feather pillow. Love spread like a virus...
You'll forgive my hyperbole, I hope. After several days of nervous anticipation and wild fantasy, what happened? Big pile of bupkes. I got a face to go with the name, and I was pleased. Was it shallow of me to hope that the outside matched (what I knew of) the inside? After my lament about being wanted for my brains, probably.
It's all over and the lights come up. A choice needs to be made: stay or go? Could I overcome my twitchy nervousness and my inherent ability to say exactly the wrong thing and make my approach? Or would I pack up my complete ball-lessness and slink away with my metaphorical tail between my actual legs?
I attempted to linger. I made a phone call, smoked a cigarette, and I chatted briefly with the director. I meandered along the streets of Manayunk towards my car. What was I hoping for? For a voice to call my name (which I don't think he knows). For me to suddenly grow a elephantine set of 'nads? Guess what happened? None of that. I sadly slid into my car, disgusted with my inability to make an approach. And now I confess my lameness to you.
As a side note, I quite enjoyed the play and perhaps next time I won't fail so spectacularly.
No comments:
Post a Comment