From Sabrina (1995)
Linus Larrabee: And I want tickets to whatever Broadway show nobody can get tickets to.
[Mack looks inquisitively at him]
Linus Larrabee: I know, I seldom go to the theatre.
Mack: Seldom?
Linus Larrabee: So, I'm not a theatre buff.
Mack: Buff? The most difficult tickets to get will be for a Broadway musical.
Linus Larrabee: [distractedly] Okay.
Mack: That means that the performers will periodically dance about and burst into song.
[Mack looks inquisitively at him]
Linus Larrabee: I know, I seldom go to the theatre.
Mack: Seldom?
Linus Larrabee: So, I'm not a theatre buff.
Mack: Buff? The most difficult tickets to get will be for a Broadway musical.
Linus Larrabee: [distractedly] Okay.
Mack: That means that the performers will periodically dance about and burst into song.
I sit before a blank computer screen, listening to “OOOOOOOOO—klahoma” trill from the television in the family room. My mind’s eye displays cowboys jumping from the front porch, grabbing a beautiful partner, and swirling around until the final “okay!” My head bobs to the beat, my toes tap out the rhythm, and my torso sways in my swivel desk chair as song fills the air.
I love musicals. All of them. Every year, I promise myself that we’ll get season tickets for the shows that come to San Antonio, and every year something happens to prevent the purchase. While I’ve only seen a couple of live shows, I know I’d never be disappointed by any performance.
Sometimes I like to imagine real life as a musical. What dance choreography would I break into as I sashay through my chores? I see the perfect fan kick arcing over the washer, a step-ball-change leap through the kitchen with a final pirouette en dedans as I dust a ceiling fan.
My imagination runs wild with a terrific musical number dancing and singing up and down the aisles of HEB. As I move through each lane, more and more shoppers join in as we rumba by the dog food and boogie by the bagels. I belt out a tribute to avocados and croon a love song to Ben & Jerry’s. The entire number ends with a Rockette style chorus line as I twirl out the door and over to my car where a line of tapping bagboys load my groceries to trumpeting fanfare.
While Linus Larrabee may not approve of people who “periodically dance about and burst into song,” I think I would love to live such a life!
Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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