I don't know how, but I made it almost thirty-seven years without seeing The Nutcracker or having any idea of what it's about (other than, you know, a nutcracker). See? Being an uncultured redneck has its advantages, folks.
I had also never been to the ballet. Both those streaks came screeching to a halt on Saturday afternoon as Zoey and I went on a date to a special children's version of The Nutcracker.
The preshow festivities were nice. The children were encouraged to come an hour early and meet the performers. The actors signed autographs in the booklets the children were given when they entered the theater. Zoey was quite timid at first; I think the costumes were freaking her out a bit.
But she warmed up when a Junior-Diva-In-Training, a snotty little eight-year-old girl, marched up to us, snatched the autograph book from Zoey's hand, and said, "Let me give you my autograph!" Snap!
After that, Zoey went up to every little girl or woman who looked remotely like a ballerina or a princess and asked for her autograph. But she ignored the guys. During the past month or so, boys, especially men, have become yucky. With the exception of me, thankfully.
Soon, it was time for us to take our seats for the performance. Or as I now refer to it, Q&A With Daddy.
Zoey: Why aren't they talking?
Me: Ballerinas don't talk.
Zoey: Why aren't they singing?
Me: Ballerinas don't sing.
Zoey: What is the pirate doing? (Sorry, but anyone wearing an eye patch is a pirate in my daughter's eyes.)
Me: Sprinkling fairy dust.
Zoey: Why?
Me: I don't know.
Zoey: Is he a good guy?
Me: I don't know.
Zoey: What's going on?
Me: I don't know.
And I still don't. Here's what I think happened at The Nutcracker:
There's a party. Some guy (good guy? bad guy? pirate?) sprinkles fairy dust that freezes everyone. He puts presents on the floor. He then sprinkles more fairy dust and everybody starts moving again. A small girl opens a package that contains a nutcracker toy. The party ends and she goes to bed. She wakes up and all her toys have come to life and are dancing around. Some evil rats come along and stab the nutcracker. The pirate guy sprinkles more fairy dust and turns the nutcracker into a boy/man. The girl and nutcracker boy fall in love and watch a lot of people dance. Then she wakes up with the nutcracker next to her, only it's a toy once again.
Was it a dream? A bad hit of LSD? Who the hell knows?
As you can see, I'm not too well versed in your fancy-schmancy interpretive dance stuff. Like I've said before, you can take the family out of Wal-Mart, but that doesn't make them cultured.
