I was going to call it “Tuesday’s Two-Minute Hate” because that would have been all literary and edgy, but I don’t actually have anything to hate on today.

Kind of weird to call it “Tuesday’s Two Minutes,” though, when it may end up being significantly shorter than the “Monday Minute.”  What will I call Wednesday’s post?

On Sunday Sugar Daddy and I celebrated fourteen years of marriage.  “Celebrate” is kind of a strong term.  We didn’t really do much celebrating because it was a Sunday and there was church–except I didn’t go to church because I had a mandatory tap recital rehearsal, so I was there while SD was in church with the kids–suckahs!  We did take a nap in the afternoon.  That was kind of a celebration.  We take naps most Sunday afternoons, though, so it doesn’t really count.  We wished each other a happy anniversary.  We each didn’t think to give the other a card.  SD wrote a very sweet status update on his Facebook, which I did not see because I didn’t log onto the Facebook or go on the internets at all on Sunday.  At all.  Gentle readers, this is a rare occurrence.  My husband is always on my back about spending too much time on the internets, and what a bittersweet O. Henry twist to this tale, that I should miss his sentimental Facebook post on the one day out of the year that I do not log onto the Facebook–and for what reason did I avoid the internets that day?  Was it subconsciously to please him in some way?  Was it because I was too busy reading my Kindle that he so kindly gave me for my birthday?  Either way, it is a tangentially-related anniversary story.  I hope you appreciated it.

I don’t usually do things like tap dance on the Lord’s Day, but I learned early on in my dancing career that you never, never, never skip a mandatory final-rehearsal-before-dress-rehearsal.  Not only because your tap instructor makes a voodoo doll of you and sticks pins in it, but because come dress rehearsal you are lost lost lost lost LOST and have no idea where to go or what to do.  It is disaster.  They always schedule this rehearsal on Sunday because normal people are free on Sunday.  So once a year I skip church for my art.  Anyway, naturally, because I was going to miss church, all kinds of people from church needed me to do something for them on this Sunday.  First someone wanted me to substitute-teach their Sunday School class.  Then someone else wanted me to play piano for them.  My dears, no one ever asks me to do anything all year, and the one day out of the year that I cannot be at church, I am apparently most needed.  COINCIDENCE?  As I said to my husband Sunday morning, “It is like the Adversary doesn’t want me to skip church today.”  Fortunately, I have experience telling the Adversary to suck it.

The recital is this Thursday.  I am very nervous about it.  I don’t feel prepared.  Part of it is because I am unprepared.  That is mostly my fault, but a little bit is due to the fact that there are some things that I need to know that I was only made aware of on Sunday, at the mandatory rehearsal.  THIS IS WHY WE NEVER SKIP THE MANDATORY REHEARSAL, REGARDLESS OF WHO TRIES TO DISSUADE US.  In addition to my dancing part, I also have this small but important role throughout the entire musical extravaganza that is our class’s program, and I was just taught all of the cues on Sunday.  I say I was taught them, but I did not quite learn them, and that is a source of angst for me.  Ah, the life of a thespian!  I cannot complain, for I chose it.

Also this Thursday evening is Girlfriend’s preschool graduation, which I am going to have to miss because there is no way I can do both.  Well, there is a way, but it entails cloning and bending the time-space continuum, and I’m having a hard enough time just trying to learn my cues for the show.  I don’t think I can do all of this science stuff in the next couple days as well.  I think it is too much to ask of a person, frankly.  Maybe that makes me a bad mother.  I do not know.  I am a little sick about it.  I mean, she is my baby, and this is the last preschool graduation ever!  On the other hand, her teacher said I could come watch the dress rehearsal on Wednesday afternoon, and that is assuaging my heartbreak (i.e. guilt) somewhat.

Does my language strike you as melodramatic this afternoon?  It might be all of this Austen I’m reading on ye olde Kindle.

I forgot to tell you the theme for this year’s recital.  We are performing selections from the Broadway musical based on the Monty Python movie with the Knights that say “Nie!”  I am being deliberately cryptic because, as I explained to you last year when I had to give cryptic hints about that year’s production, the last time I was specific about my tap recital, someone in my tap class found my blog.  It turned out okay, but I’d rather not be surprised again.  Or as Jane Austen would say, “surprized.”  I don’t necessarily want people in real life to make the “connexion” between this blog and me.  I said that last thing mainly as an excuse to use the Austenian “connexion.”  I am excessively fond of that spelling.  Anyway, if you still can’t guess what musical I’m referring to, it starts with canned processed meat and rhymes with “Camelot.”

It’s a good thing I don’t have strong feelings about my tap-dancing compatriots finding this blog because I’m sure I have now given you far too many hints than are strictly prudent, but I digress.

Anyway, I have to dress as a plague-ridden peasant maid.  We took pictures in costume on Sunday morning, before rehearsal.  To get the perfect plague-victim look, we were supposed to rat our hair, but since my hair is naturally contrary, I just went to bed directly after washing it and woke up and went straight to the picture-taking session with bed head.  It was about as perfectly plague-stricken peasant as it gets.  I’m not sure how I can reproduce it for an evening performance, though, unless I take a long nap Thursday afternoon.  What I do for my art, I tell you.  If I could bottle that sacrifice and take it as a tincture at will, I would be the perfect mother.  But the limitations of science, etc., etc.

Well, that’s surely two minutes of something, gentle readers.  I must get back to ye olde grind now.  Adieu.