TOO TRUE TUESDAY - Unfortunate Flare for Drama

There is a SUBJECT challenge for the TTT this week, which makes it harder.  (And here's where I admit that there may have been subjects provided previously, and I was oblivious to them.....  Oh, well!)

The subject for this week is bad gifts. My "bad gift" actually began as a very nice gift.  See illustration (left).   I was doing a summer repertory theatre, playing Titania in MND....and there was a young man in the company who apparently had a "thing" for me.  How sad is this?  I honestly do not remember him; I do not remember if he had a minor role, or if he was on the crew, but apparently he had a crush on me, which was revealed the day of my birthday.   You need to picture the dressing room - a large room maybe 30 ft. x  30 ft., brightly lit with  mirrors and dressing tables all around the periphery and a big open floor in the middle with only a few chairs and random costume bits scattered about.  After the show everyone was in their assigned spots, for the most part removing make-up, taking wigs off, etc.  This is when someone instigated "happy birthday" singing for me, a cake and a gift or two from the cast.  Then I noticed a bit of hubbub and whispering over in the far corner from those who knew what was up....

And, from that other side of the dressing room, comes this young admirer, face beaming, bringing a special gift just from him - a large bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream. Now, I have indulged in Bailey's a couple of times in the years since, and have always gotten quite a small bottle.  This was quite a large bottle.  So,  across this wide expanse comes a heretofor secret admirer carrying an opulent gift.  All at once I was taking in that I was receiving the gift, recognizing that it was from a young devotee who was using this public opportunity to declare his admiration, and realizing I must do my upmost to hide my embarassment.....just as all of this was  coming together for me, at about the time all of my tortured attention and gratified smile focused on him - realizing that the attention of everyone in the room was likewise directed - as he came forward bringing this fine gift for me - carrying it out for everyone to see....as he is just in the center of the room - he dropped it.

The bottle smashed and Bailey's ran.  Horror was universal.  Both at the loss of the Bailey's and embarrassment for the poor fellow.  The prevailing idea - offered in a sort of redeeming-the-moment, face-saving frenzy by someone -  seemed to be that some of it "could be saved".   Everyone seemed to jump on this bandwagon - Yes!  It could be saved!!  So I sat there at my dressing table (the recipient couldn't really be the one to try to save the gift pre-presentation, could she?) and I watched this extraordinary group effort.  Someone got a broom. (Yes.  A broom.)  Someone got a rag.  (A rag.)  Someone else rinsed out their 2-liter.  Another cleverly found a stocking.  (A stocking.)  Someone rolled a program into a funnel And together they got as much of the Bailey's as they could through the stocking and the funnel into the bottle.  And, if you can believe this - the grand procession across the remaining half of the dressing room recommenced.  The young man, this time accompanied by his chief assistants in the retrieval effort presented the magnificent gift.  I will say that my acting abilities were amazingly up to the effort!

I did graciously accept this gift.  I did smile and compliment, and thank everyone for "saving the day" and then I generously shared the gift with all who wished to partake.  I do believe that there were a few sane souls who demurred, not having too much appetite for this interesting cocktail.  I obviously could not demur.  At least I had to appear to enjoy my gift.  So - I lifted that paper cup of Baileys and dirt (and surely, I feared, a few shards of glass) to my lips.  And...... no.  I didn't drink.  But I think I gave a fair representation of drinking.  Well, sipping, as would (praise God!) only be appropriate under any circumstances.  I did have to fearfully lick some of it from my lips, and then I oohed, and aahed, and complimented and praised.  And profusely thanked those who had made that moment possible.  And somehow managed to be soooooo attached to my little cup of heaven that I could carry it with me all the way to the bathroom where I "finished it off" so to speak.

Of course we were all - or most of us - actors.  I think back and can see that the salvation effort was primarily acting; hopefully most of the drinking was acting.  The delight with which I clutched the plastic bottle to my breast as I left the theatre, was definitely acting.  The event itself was saved, more or less, at least in on its surface.  My admirer's most outward feelings were spared (though interiorly he must be writhing about this event to this day).  In any case, if that young man intended to break the ice with me that night, breaking the bottle certainly smashed his hopes.  As evidenced by the fact that this fine gift is the only thing I remember about him.