There I was, sitting next to the new boyfriend who had no idea I was the old boyfriend. All he knew was that I was the "friend" his current boyfriend had been catching up with, and let me just say:nobody wants their boyfriend catching up with friends that look like me.
Had I been a littler quicker, I would have thought to ask the box office attendant to switch me to a seat in the back, not next to 185 pounds of baggage. But I was stuck, a towering 6'1", shaking hands with New Boyfriend and welcoming him to Chicago. I was flippin' cherry cordial.
Until three people who knew very well that I was Old Boyfriend came up to hug New Boyfriend without so much as a warning glare in my direction. Let's just say, I practically memorized that program by the time the lights dimmed.
I admit, I had never felt younger, prettier, or smarter than I did sitting there, listening to the-other-friend-who-belonged-there talk to New Boyfriend. But as I read the list of money donors for a third time to avoid having to participate in the conversation, I couldn't shake that bitter taste from my mouth.
Because I had been drinking A LOT that morning.
I sat and said nothing between dance numbers as I choked back tears from the combination of beautiful choreography and my sad, sad situation. I waited outside during intermission, and when the show ended, booked it to a hidden corner of the hallway to wait for my goodbye.
I walked home singing "On My Own" as if Cameron Mackintosh were on the street casting. My life felt the fast approaching of "A Little Fall of Rain", and knowing they cut that song in HALF for the movie, I needed a pick-me-up before I dove into Adele.
So, I took a shower and washed that man right out of my hair. Full voice. Sorry neighbor.
I believe that one day, there will be somebody awesome to sit next to my old boyfriend at my shows. Until then, I'll try to figure out why anybody would want so may tattoos.
I ate lunch twice today,
TJB: Making It
