Monday, October 13, 2014

Walk of shame

This weekend we went to see the Metropolitan Opera's Macbeth, live, in high definition at the Jordan Common Cineplex.  By "live" they mean in real time.  Because sitting in the Cineplex is nothing like sitting in the Metropolitan Opera House in Lincoln Center.  You don't get to watch those chandeliers move up and down, or walk up the red carpeted stairway and gawp at Chagall.  You don't get to turn back and see the fountain lit up outside the windows.  And you don't think, "I'm in NYC, the center of modern civilization."

On the other hand, you have an infinitely more comfortable seat at the Cineplex and it isn't against the back wall of the fifth balcony where people on stage move like Polly Pockets in fancy costume.

There were three couples in the Cineplex in Jordan Common.  Usually we go to the theater on 33rd south and State, where the theater is filled with opera lovers. Not here.  But all three couples were opera lovers, so there's that.

Near the end of the opera, which was sensational, I reached in my purse for lipstick and smeared it on my lips in the dark.  When the lights came on, we spoke with the couple nearest us.  I'm all smiles in my full Louise Plummer persona.  We walk into the lobby.  More smiling.  We walk to the car.  I get in and look in the mirror and my lips look white.  I look like a zombie.  Instead of wearing lipstick, I am wearing under eye concealer, which comes in a lipstick-like tube.

I let out a squelched scream.  "Why didn't you tell me I had this on my lips?" I say to Tom.  "I look like an old whore."

"Oh, I thought your lipstick looked a little light."

A little light?  My lipstick looks a little light?

Then I remember he's always been this way.  As young marrieds, he didn't see a streak of mascara on my cheek.

I'm the one who gives him the alerts at the mall:  "Wow, look at the breasts at two o' clock."


There are advantages in this kind of husband. He loves opera is just one of them.


  1. Oh Louise. I feel your pain. I found Tom's identical brother separated at birth. I am married to him.
    I have worn shirts inside out, had bad make-up, bad hair and even food slopped down my chest and my husband was oblivious.
    On the other hand, just like your Tom, my Rob rarely notices any other woman either (except the time we were walking downtown at night and a lady in a nearby bar stood up and flashed us her naked boobies through the window. He did notice that, but I admit those DD's were hard to miss.)

  2. I just snorted, I was laughing so hard.

  3. I was keeping silence on this, but the stone must speak. I have lived with Louise for more than 50 years. In the course of those 50 years, I have learned 1) that the behavior of this particular woman is not predictable, and 2) my personal survival depends on keeping my mouth shut. Now, after keeping my mouth shut, I face a public executioner. Just know that Louise put that damn eyeliner on in the darkened theater. When I did see her with whitened lips, I figured they were chapped and she was putting on some kind of fire-retardant.

  4. Poor Tom! Damned if you do and damned if you don't.
    The only good news is if anyone could pull off fire-retardant (snort!) as a fashion statement, it would be Louise. I bet the other women went home and checked the 'net for trending celebrity white lips.

  5. I love you, Tom. I love you, Louise.

  6. I also think my husband finds it best not to mention things in the slight chance I am doing something new and I get grumpy about it.

  7. I'm not an audible laugher in solo situations, like when reading through your blog while sitting in my team room at work, but I was practically falling out of my chair laughing at this story. My team stared at me. I kept laughing.