So last night I had the opportunity to take the resident 7-year-old to see the symphony.
Have either of you taken a 7-year-old to the symphony?
We parked a block or two from the venue and walked over to get our tickets. The symphony was having a special deal for those of us who had attended the show the night before. Bring back a ticket stub and five bucks and see it again the next day! The Lovely Rhonda and I had seen it the night before, and since she was at work and couldn’t go again last night, I thought I’d take my kid. My kid enjoys classical music. What the heck.
Once we had our tickets we moved on to dinner at a restaurant. Followed by dessert. They had this “build your own sundae” for kids. They bring out a plate with 2 scoops of ice cream, a little dish of sprinkles, a dish of whipped cream, a dish of chocolate sauce, etc. Oh, and look. A cone. A cone which your spastic kid will put the ice cream onto. With her hands. After she’d already put chocolate sauce and sprinkles on the ice cream, and now it’s a little melty.
What fun! I’m just not sure why we don’t do this every day.
The waiter dropped by and had a look. He then sped away and returned with a fistful of moist towelettes. I used them up in a blaze of futile glory. They were moderately useful in that they removed enough dessert from the outside of the child (to include shirt and coat sleeves, which reminds me it’s time to fire up the washing machine, again) such that we were able to leave the table and journey to the bathroom without sticking to nearby diners, much.
Once she could move freely again and there were no obvious clumps of sprinkles adhered to any of her extremities, we returned to the concert hall. We did this via the light rail train, which is always educational in the extreme. Last night we learned about the many interesting odors that it is possible to enjoy in an enclosed space, thanks to Homeless Guy and his sidekick Drunken Transient. My final surviving nose-hair made a break for it as we passed Axe Teen and his dad, Overcompensating Middle Aged Cologne Guy, in the doorway.
I’m worried now that they (my future nose-hairs) will grow back in all bushy. Is this how it happens to old guys? Overexposure to bad smells? Must I now order a battery-driven “personal groomer/trimmer” and accept my eventual fate?
How was the symphony, you ask? Well, it turns out that if you take a 7-year-old out at night after a full day at school, her excitement will be able to overcome fatigue for forty-four minutes of Mozart and Saint-Saens, and not one minute more. She will bury her face in your bosom and slump over the armrest like a sack of cornmeal, once she has abandoned the energetic nose-picking that you will, in abject horror, put a stop to the instant you realize is taking place. Sadly, this will mean you must head for home during intermission and miss Dvorak’s Slavonic Dances, arguably the best part of the show, but so it goes. The kid has seen her first symphony.