Imma Tell You This One More Thing

I wanted to remember this: While Kid 2 and I were waiting in the “handicap access [1]” section of the lobby before Matilda started (this in on Broadway, remember? in New York? A few days ago? Remember?) we were watching people come pick up their tickets from will-call, and these two (let’s not sugar-coat this) completely gorgeous young men came in and got their tickets. Kid 2 and I shared an eyebrow raise, because, yes, I may have mentioned, they were extremely good looking. Both. [2]

So eventually the doors opened, and we (more eventually) made it to our seats. We had a section kind of off to the side, so I sat farthest out (you know, it’s the theatre equivalent of Mom eating the burnt piece of dinner food). Guess who sat in the two remaining seats to my other side? Yup. The twenty-something HandsomeSauce Brigade. (Can two be a Brigade?)

I said hello. They said it back. In accents. I asked them where they were from, and they are from Melbourne. (Possibly they got better looking simply by virtue of being Aussie. Yes. I am a person who thinks things like that.) We talked for a minute or ten about travel, about annual two-week trips to NYC, about growing up best friends, about Melbourne (I have a brother who lived there), about Utah (surprise — they’d never been!). Jeremy, the blonder one, started to ask a question, and then stopped. I told him he could ask whatever he wanted. He asked if I’d seen “The Book of Mormon Musical,” but said he felt foolish asking, assuming. I said, “Why?” and he looked at me blankly. Then I laughed and he laughed, too. “Are you a Mormon?” he asked, and I said that I am. (Because I tell the TRUTH, that’s why.) And he said, “So, have you seen it?” And I told him no. When he asked why, I shrugged and said, “We’re about to see Matilda. The show will be skewed to make us feel a certain way about certain characters, and that’s fine. The BOM Musical, from what I understand, is skewed to make audiences feel a certain way about a huge, diverse group of real, actual people, and it seems a little mean-spirited.” They agreed. Will, the more brunette one (who is also an anesthesiologist in Melbourne — does that make him more attractive again?) said he didn’t know any Mormons. I smiled and said, “Now you do. We’re pretty normal, right?” and I gestured to my 2 girls who were geeking out about the set, and the 3 boys beside them, who were laughing at them and counting light cannons and generally being happy to be where they were. They asked, “Is it true you don’t drink?” and I said, “Actually, we can. We don’t have to receive our fluids through IV or anything. We just choose to keep it alcohol-free.” And they laughed again. We talked a couple more minutes about that sort of thing, and they were gracious and kind.

And then I asked Jeremy if he still lived in Melbourne. And he told me this: (and gave me permission to use it in a story if I ever want to, which IS BRILLIANT) He lives in Manila (you know, the Philippines?) with his girlfriend (hello, my assumptions are flawed) who is the Australian ambassador to the Philippines or something. I could probably google that and see if my memory is correct, or if he was kidding me, or whatever, (and I did ask if he was kidding, because, hello?) but I prefer to imagine that a beautiful, near-thirty Aussie woman is keeping up diplomatic relations in the Philippines during the day and painting the town with my new friend at night. He also said these words, “So I live at my leisure” (which, natch, rhymes with Pleasure) which, natch, made me laugh out loud. He laughed too. He’s a KEPT MAN. I didn’t know those guys existed anymore. So maybe I need to write a story about the “him” in my mind, because the world needs more modern literature about Kept Men and the Diplomats who Love Them. Am I right?

Good times.

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[1] This is a joke. There is no such thing. We stood behind a door, and when it opened, we went in. After which we asked for directions to the restroom. Which was down a long flight of rickety stairs. Carpeted, and probably not that rickety, but narrow and hard to climb in either direction with a newly-gimpy leg. Hey, broadway theaters? Want to get some great wheelchair access? I’m for it. FYI. Even though I’ve never been in a wheelchair except for fun (Aunt Ruth’s motorized Jazzy thing used to get a workout when I’d visit. With my 4 kids. I’m totally an adult.)

[2] This is the part where I assumed that they were gay, (which made me feel a little guilty, just for my ability to make assumptions about people), and then thought nothing stronger than, “Some people are,” (which made me feel like I’m growing up.)