Ronia is, in fact, on stage jumping around going fucking crazy in Mamma Mia, which is essentially like a jazzercize class with a lyric book. Like, on some Tae Bo shit. I would last part of one song before my lungs tried to crawl out of my mouth. Gabriel was under some misconceptions regarding the production that I was happy to correct by striking him repeatedly with one of those little ice fishing bats. Did you know that those little clubs are called "priests"? Gabriel didn't know either. I made sure he understood as it was coming down.
I was never able to escape a play without being in love with at least one person, so I can't even imagine what the fucking environment is like backstage - and I was in, like, a Christmas Carol and Guys and Fucking Dolls. Mamma Mia is a bioweapon by comparison - a lethal treatise, a Hermetic principle. An edict. An ethos! I'm scared to know.
The one thing I have heard is that she might be interested in someone in the play. No doubt you're as startled by this as I am; I'll give you a moment to recover. Apparently, this someone is Someone for whom women may not be of particular interest romantically - someone for whom a woman holds the same romantic appeal as a lamp or setee. At least, that's what Brenna thinks. Or fears. Having run aground on such dangerous shoals before, a danger most common in Theatre I'm told, she is loathe to have a daughter thus scourg'd. For my part, I could not ascertain any novel polarity. He simply looked like a boy, a creature whose dangers are - to my mind - even more manifold.
(CW)TB out.
