OK, so I continue my discurso on Fall. In case you didn't gather from the
last post, this is my favorite time of year. The temperature starts dropping (of course that's up here in North Florida, in Miami?
JU SO FONII !!! ), there's pumpkin pie and caramel apples in the grocery stores, the fashions are fabulous, and the holiday lights are beginning to twinkle in the darker crisp nights. Si, yo se, I didn't state the obvious, the reason Fall is called Fall. The leaves, they are a changin' colors and faaalllliiinnnggg, but that's not the only thing that's falling.
Let us go back to fashions shall we? Even though BB adooores fall fashions, I do concede there are possible drawbacks. Last week, BB went to apoyar-support- a performance given by fellow actors of the TWAM- Theatre With A Mission troupe, and of course had to look every bit the distinguished diva that she is. The nightime temperatures were going to drop into the low 40's so out came the box of winter clothing and I picked my ensemble. My divine divaness decided on the flowered black fan, my BB headscarf, my black cape, a lime green turtleneck, a black background flowered see through long sleeved shirt, black dress slacks, black tights and black high heeled boots. I should have left the last two items in the box. Apparently the tights and the boots, as well as BB, had aged in the last year and the proof of that would be apparent before the end of the evening.
Now, I did notice the tights were not quite as snug as they should be- at least not in the right places. Oh they were tight enough up to the upper thighs and then it seemed the elastic powers of the poor dears could take no more. They just hung there, mid thigh. Running behind schedule (Cubana remember?) I rationalized that my pants would keep them up, so off my daughter and I went. Arriving at the location, I jump out of the car only to have my smarty 19 year old ask why I'm walking funny. She's sooooo lucky I had my hands in my pockets trying to hold up the tights and couldn't give her a good ::BOPASO:: with my fan...
I quickly found the nearest ladies' room and did what any self respecting nifty, almost 50, diva abuela would do. I undressed, put my granny panties on top of the now midthigh "tights" and put my slacks and boots back on before they became knee highs. If you're female I know you've felt my pain.
Bueno, para no cansarte, we watched the brilliant performance of our actors and in the glow of their well deserved applause they asked the rest of the troupe to join them on stage. A little background info here- my daughter asked why I was going if I wasn't going to be acting. I informed her that BB didn't always have to be the center of attention- to which she laughed/choked. "Mom, you can't help yourself- it's who you are, what you do." And y'all wonder why puberty ::shudder:: has left me shell shocked.
Continuing. I go towards the other actors and finding no steps attempt to climb onto the stage. Notice I wrote attempt. Between the high heels, the midthighs-almost-knee-highs tights and my age, you can forget about it. My right foot was on the stage, with me trying to get momentum by pushing off the ground repeatedly with the left foot while sputtering "Ahem,hem,hem" to cover any creaks or cries from my joints and bones.
It was not a diva moment.
In all fairness, my 19 year old showed self control. She did not say anything until the ride home. Then the hysterical laughter shook the car windows.
"See? You can't help yourself- it's who you are, what you do."
Babushka Besos a todos. Cuidensen.
