Not a Phan

I am not a normal woman. Yesterday I made a quick trip to Omaha with Anna and her two daughters and one of the girl's friends. We took in a touring Broadway performance of Phantom of the Opera. It was a stunning production. The sets were amazing, the singing was extraordinary, the costumes lush and gorgeous. Notes in the program referred to "phans", repeat attendees to the show who just can't get enough. They're addicted to the darned thing! The four women I was with were moved to tears at the end when the Phantom releases Christine from his bondage, laments over his loss, and disappears from under his voluminous black cape. I applauded, stood during the curtain call, and felt monumentally excluded from the magic that seemed to have been cast over the rest of the audience. I remained unmoved, and I can't figure out why. I am a bona fide sucker for romance. I tear up over the opening notes of songs that have significant associations with events in my life. I am a crier! For crying out louder than necessary, I choke up over pivotal scenes in The Sound of Music!! But the twisted triangle between the Phantom, Christine, and Raoul against the backdrop of Paris in the fog did not get to me. Maybe I should just cut myself some slack, Phantom may very simply not be my cup of tea. I didn't like Gone With the Wind, either. Or Moulin Rouge. Sometimes I feel like a traitor to my sex, like I said earlier, in some respects I'm just not a normal woman. Something I did love about yesterday was dinner. We found a lovely Italian restaurant where the bread was warm and fragrant, the entrees absolutely fabulous, and the desserts the perfect, sinful finish. Oh, and one more thing was wonderful yesterday. I love a road trip with the girls, I couldn't have been in better company.