"Are you into lateral thinking puzzles? I just knew that about you."
My singing teacher just called, I think that's her way of remarking my intelligence.
I'm taking it as a complimet.
We saw her last night, as part of the chorus of La Boh�me.
It was beautiful.
From Mr. Pyke's dutiful snuggles as the consumption began to shake Mimi, to seeing Kitty's face torn to pieces when she drops her little muff and dies in her chair, in a cold, winter-worn, Parisian appartment.
From Rob's silly baow-baow-baow porn music interjections, to Mr. Pyke's rabid eating of an ice cream bar, I was suddenly glad that the opera house had sold out enough to sell Haagen Daas when Dave's face lit up at the thought of it.
Not bad for a birthday outing, the four of us, safely ensconced in the dress circle, skirts to our ankles, men looking dashing in their best dashing wear.
Mr. Pyke in a blue-on-black brocade vest that laced up the back that had me envisioning jumping him behind the banquet table of some Victorian ballrom.
Sometimes it's fun to dress up, to know that you can.
If I hadn't been such a useless toe-chopping cripple, I'd have been in my best killer heels, but the strange vintage dress with the fishnet front and impossibly narrow waist went just comfortably with doc boots.
I'm talking out of my ass today, as evidenced by our new undertakings.
Mr. Pyke and I have joined the LJ community, it was getting hard to keep up with people around here -- too much "well did you read my LJ today" prefacing too many important conversations.
Wish us luck. Especially with keeping both of these updated.