After all, I've only been mentioning on Twitter, emails , telephone calls and this blog that the rehearsal schedule was killing
This means last week we survived Easter only to be pitchforked into the tech rehearsal, two dress rehearsals, two performances on Thursday, the Friday performance where Young Master Buxom played a Villager, a Plate, and a Confused Noise Within, until finally--tah-dah--the Saturday night performance where he played the Beast.
Well, he did fabulously well. And all the girls (and women) in town are crushing on him. I mean this. Well, maybe not about the girls, but the grown-up ladies keep exclaiming over how talented and gorgeous he is.
I could go all faux-modest on you all, but actually, I soak up that kind of thing like a sponge. I mean, not only am I his proud mother, I am apparently such a notable stage mother that I'm glad Ethel Merman is dead, because otherwise she'd be playing me on Broadway.
So. Feel free to keep my comment box humming with congratulatory remarks. I've got a bottomless appetite for that kind of thing, and I need the internet to supplement the local supply of glad cries and hugs. And listen, don't worry that I'll be ungrateful. When Young Master Buxom becomes a big star, I'll reward you, his earliest fans, with his autograph, or my autograph, or my impression of Ethel Merman singing "Funny" from Gypsy, or maybe just a cocktail napkin with directions to my sister's house scribbled on it.
(Note to Jen: there will be no Barbies. Capisci?)