Since there was very little fault to be found with "The Magic Flute" which I went to see the other night, I'll shift my focus to my longtime pal and opera companion Deborah.
When she noisily dropped her program during a particularly quiet onstage moment, I'm sure poor Deb was filled with dread over how I might react. She needn't have worried. While I normally would consider this a punishable offence, it was countered by my delight at her exquisite startle reaction, one that rivalled anything Joyce DeWitt ever did on Three's Company. For about a second and a half, she was all flailing arms and jerking chicken head followed by the perfect wince.
This is a quirk of Deborah's that fascinates me. Someone can simply clink a glass or drop a knife in a restaurant and she startles and a look crosses her face as though she's been smacked in the back of the head by a large book. Why I continue to delight in what may well be a neurological disorder is not for me to say although you may have an idea or two.
It puts me in mind of a Catherine Tate sketch that I don't have the heart to forward to Deborah.
Reader's Diary #1909: Sandra Cisneros: Eleven
11 hours ago