Gentle Reader, I am in a quandary.
All I have to do is give some opening remarks, introduce the studio, the musicians, vaguely wave my hand at the venue owner and his wares, and announce the costume contest, which I will later have to judge.
Funny word, that. Judge.
Some of my relatives are coming, for reasons best known to themselves, despite the excruciating distance, and the fact that probably they will not enjoy the show, or my friends, or approve of the Mix, which is next door and where the after-party is, and on and on. Their approval isn’t necessary, but I am cowering in fear of their judgement, nonetheless.
Also, I’m judging myself. I’m sitting here, trying to write thematically appropriate jokes, and I am pretty sure that I am the least funny person to ever draw air into his lungs. That is, I can occasionally quip with the best, but sitting down and writing jokes? Not my strongest area. There’s a lot of scope here for hilarity – Zombies! Apocalypse! Valentine’s Day is Utter Crap! – but it’s just not coming together for me.
At least the costume and makeup are sorted to my half-satisfaction. Crisp linen toga, red fringed cloak – the fourth century is easy. However, essentially, it’s held together with pins. I have it arranged to cover as much of my body as possible, given my issues in that area, but a toga will always be a toga, and expose a little more than I’m comfortable with, and in my mind, while I’m delivering my poorly written remarks, it is going to slip off of my body like the leaves of fall. In front of my aunt, uncle, and cousins, who are are devout, and will likely be appalled by my portrayal of a saint.
Wish us luck! No post tomorrow, for certain, but I’ll let you know how it goes on Saturday, with luck.
A rather excellent supper removed my doubts, and my writer’s block – to a certain extent. I’ve got my opening remarks sorted. Hurrah!