Vanity Fair

My "Covetous" post has inspired me to begin my soul baring by writing a series of posts on how I am guilty of the seven deadly sins. The last post was ENVY; this one will be PRIDE.

I discovered in the last week and a half that I am easily flattered. You could get me to do anything by merely convincing me that I'd be good at it. In this case, the "anything" was auditioning for a musical which is something I haven't done (with good reason) for about thirteen years! Here's how the story goes.

A few weeks ago I found myself chatting with my friend Ben. He asked if I thought I was up for doing a show, so soon after a baby. I said, "Maaaaaybe. Why?" He said that he and his wife, Skye, had just seen Thoroughly Modern Millie at the Hale WVC and each independently had thought that I'd do a smashing job at Mrs. Meers and that the Hale Orem was going to be holding auditions for it soon. I said, "Yeah, but I don't sing or dance." And he said that the role has songs you can "speak/sing" and that the dancing was minimal.
I pondered on the proposition for more than a week. And as I pondered, I found myself thinking less and less of my well known limitations and more and more about how they thought I'd do such a great job. So, I finally decided to do it. I knew I needed help though, so I asked Ben and Skye if they'd help me prepare a song. They came up with a few options and Skye came over Monday night. I also called the the Hale Orem and made an appointment for the audition which would be two days later. Skye and I settled on 16 bars of "Little Girls" from Annie. Well, I practiced and practiced those 16 bars for the next 48 hours until I felt O.K. about it. I knew I couldn't sell it on my pipes alone, so I tried to imbue the audition with character.

Right. So, I go to the audition and as I'm filling out their form, I'm realizing that I'm about to sing. by myself. in front of people. who will be judging me. But I had come this far and this audition had now become a real fear facing moment. (My sister has recently bared her soul about fear here.) So I was going to go through with it. And I did it and I think I did it about as well as I could have. I even got a little laugh--character, y'know. Then the director/choreographer has me belt a wee bit from the show. Even that didn't go too bad and I left that audition feeling O.K. But I still had the dance audition to tackle on Friday--where tap shoes were "recommended." Yikes!
Here are some things that I had going for me leading up to the dance audition:
1. My big toenail ripped halfway down my toe causing me pain when wearing shoes akin to, well, wearing shoes with a big toenail ripped halfway down my toe.
2. Dusty character shoes that no longer fit- I'm guessing it was pregnancy induced foot enlargement.
3. Sleep deprivation. I went to sleep at 12:30am, was awakened by baby M at 3:00am at which time My Canadian Rose arrived home from work. After chatting a few minutes I could no longer sleep--at all. Ergo: 2 1/2 hours of sleep.
4. Dance Experience in the last decade: Dance Dance Revolution.
5. Tap Classes taken...ever--Zero.

How bad could it be, though, right? I actually had learned the difference between a shuffle and a flap when I assistant directed Anything Goes.

As I walked into the auditorium, a group was on stage dancing a sequence to a song from the show. With bug eyes and flaring nostrils I thought, "Holy Schneikies! I'm in way over my head." An hour later it was all over. And, sistuh, child birth ain't got nothin' on a dance audition for humiliation. Not that the director, etc. were unkind. I was just that bad. I eventually got most of the portions of dance separately-when I could keep my balance and wasn't falling over my own feet. But for the life of me I could not string the sequences together. And the very last step we were to do, well, just fuhget about it. How many non-dancer, 33-year-old, two month post partum women do you know that can stand on one foot, grab the heel of the other foot, and slooooowly pull it up over her head. ("Or, just as high as you can, guys. OK?")

And because fate would kick me while I was down, parched as I was, I put 60 cents into the vending machine for a bottle of water (Of course I left mine in the fridge at home!) and it kept my money and withheld the water. Thanks. Just thanks.

But, you know, I'm still thinking I'd do it again. All you have to do is tell me how good I'd be at it!