Wicked Times Two

So, many of you may know I saw Wicked at the end of July. I fell deeply, madly in love with it. We listened to the soundtrack for Wicked from about April until about a month ago when our beastly car CD player started scratching and skipping and Galinda started singing "Gonna make you pop- as me!" Kids repeat everything they hear.

The show goes off stage in January, so I was pretty set on going one more time with J and possibly Bo. Well, last night, we did. It was great. I sat in a different place and it was nice to see a different perspective.

A couple of times I got really caught up in the music and the story and I would turn to see if J was enjoying it as well and be struck by the sudden realization that I had just dragged my husband to a musical. I've turned into one of those wives. To my credit, I did resist whispering in his ear, "don't you just love the costumes" and other such femmy things.

We got Bo out of school and picked up two of his friends who were meeting their grandparents there and headed out of town.

We had decided to take J's rice grinder for the good gas mileage and because all three boys fit nicely in the backseat.

20 minutes down the freeway I turned to J and said, "Next time, we take the van and make the boys sit in the very back." They were so talking so loudly to each other. I'm sorry, but if one of my friends yelled in my ear like that all the time, they probably wouldn't be my friend anymore. But they all yelled everything the said. The louder and more unfunny it was, the better received it was. I have completely different standards in my personal relationships.

Since we did a lot of driving two summers ago, we got kind of strict with Bo asking "are we there yet"? We told him, "we'll get there when we get there, so stop asking." Somehow, that worked. As I write it out I'm wondering how and why.

Well, the two little guys traveling with us hadn't been indoctrinated like Bo and so they started asking about 20 minutes into the 3 hour drive. Which I thought was funny. Finally J told them, "When you see skyscrapers instead of cornfields, we'll be there." Suddenly large barns became "highscrapers" and a long discussion on what makes a skyscraper and also some of the details around 9-11. The eight year old said several times, "how stupid to fly a plane into a building on purpose, I mean--you're going die doing it---why would to be so dumb." I think sometimes 8 year olds might be a lot smarter than many adults...

Anyway. We got there in time to have a fun dinner at a place called Ed Debevics. It's one of those places where the servers are expected to be loud, rude, and obnoxious. I thought Bo would like it. He was sort of in shock and we had to tell him several times that they were supposed to act silly and say crazy things. 45 minutes later he figured he "got it" and climbed under the table and started smacking our waiter's leg. I would have loved to have been in on his thought process. Whatever process got him from wide-eyed, silent, wonder to crawling under tables and striking strangers HAD to have been a good one.

Interestingly, that is one of the very few things he's talked about today.

We walked a brisk 8 blocks or so to the theater because we found free parking by ol' Ed's.

About 30 minutes into the show Bo had made his way to my lap. About 10 minutes after that he said he was thirsty, and then subsequently complained of a headache. I was sure he was dehydrated and told him to hang on a few, and we'd load up on water at intermission. We bought a $3, 8 oz bottle of water. Be very clear that I felt immensely stupid doing that.

We guzzled and then refilled at the water fountain a couple of times.

Back in the theater, the story line got more interesting and Bo seemed to be following with more interest. Then he just flopped back on me and started telling me his brain hurt. He also kept trying to smell the hair of the lady in front of us. Aaaawkward.

About 10 minutes before the show ended, he was just so tired, I figured he'd gotten the most of the experience and I turned him so he'd rest against me and potentially fall asleep.

He did not fall asleep.

He yakked ALL over me.

Twice.

It was so disgusting, I can't even begin to tell you how disgusting. But believe me, I'd like to, because I do not like to suffer alone. You probably already know this about me.

If he had been trying to smell hair, or lolling about in his chair sideways like he had been most of the night, it could have been HORRIBLE. I cringe just thinking about how horrible. How would you ever recover from that? Sorry about your hair ma'am. And your mom's face Ricky.

So, J grabbed Bo and bolted and I sat there smelling like vomit and feeling a bit bewildered. I suddenly remembered I didn't want J to miss the end so I grabbed all our vomit-laden jackets and my vomit-laden self and ran after them. I ordered J back into the theater. You can imagine how unwilling he was to leave us to our vomit and go back to Oz.

An usher caught up with me and said, "go in there please" and pointed me to a private bathroom very close.

Inside the bathroom Bo chatted about how gross it all was and how he knew he was going to do it and how disgusting my shirt smelled. His ability to completely disassociate from what he's done--to me, astounds me.

I tried my darndest to do what needed to be done. But without my face shield, I was powerless.

I threw up too.

I'm only telling you this because....well, I guess because I can.

Bo had the nerve to tell me I was really gross. I didn't tell him I had never even been within a MILE of gross my entire life, until I had children.

I basically had to hose my shirt down, ball up my sweater to keep most of the nastiness concealed, and spot clean my pants. I took off Bo's shirt and made him wear his coat out.

We took a cab back to our car. I really wonder what that cab driver thought of our scent. I don't care, but I do wonder.

Bo was asleep within 6 minutes of being in our car.

I got a Chicago t-shirt for $9.99 at Walgreens. I walked in there, covered in "cleaned up" vomit because that's how very little I trust my husband's ability to not walk out of the store with a tie-dyed, x-small shirt for me to wear. Interestingly, Mr. Tightwad suddenly got all free with his money when he realized we were right next to a Hooters and I was in need of a shirt. I told him the shirts were like, at least $25, mostly likely twice that. He didn't care.

I do not get that.

Even though I got a new shirt and bagged up all the vomit clothes and washed my arms and legs with Sweat Pea waterless sanitizer, I still smelled faintly of Ed Debevic's cheese pizza on a bad day, the whole way home.

It's all good now. I had a nice shower at 2:30 am. I'm pleased to report, the vomit I smell now is just my brain playing tricks on me. Seems 3-4 hours subjected to a horrible smell like that, it gets planted in your brain.

I'm also not ever taking Bo to see Wicked again. He's a high-risk vomitous ingrate.

Whom I adore.