We went to Teatro ZinZanni on Wednesday night with our friends J&T. We had used a coupon for $25 off per person, which is quite a good deal, but even so someone had upgraded us to one of the expensive tables on the edge of the "stage", the table that was used in the show and also one of the tables from which "volunteers" were frequently chosen to help in the action. T was called up first, and looked quite fetching in her tall black boots and this awesome silk skirt in gray-to-black with a line of sparkly jet beads around it. Then our table was taken away, and my purse (which was on the floor under it), got dragged away as well. The "Security Guard," a teeny-tiny woman wearing a stick-on moustache and a long cloak, picked it up, caught my eye, then marched officially out of the room with my purse. Sometime later in the show, the "Maitre d'" made her give it back. In it I found a little sucker, like a Dum-Dum (plus all the things I'd put in it).
The security guard made eyes at me several times during the evening, then sometime during a lull in the show called out "Beauty Inspection. Lady!" and motioned me into the center of the room. I was wearing my normal wig and a green cocktail dress with straps, no sleeves, and the necklace my grandmother gave me after I asked to borrow it for my wedding—a lovely pendant with a deep green stone that my grandfather gave her 60 or 70 years ago. The security guard settled me in the center of the room and then did a visual inspection of my boobs, which were level with her eyes. "One, Two, One, Two, PERFECT!" she barked, and I cracked up. The timing of this particular part of the show, just after I was feeling bad about my appearance, was classic. She then stole my grandmother's necklace from me (it was, of course, returned soon after).
Correction on the tumor marker count: it was 68, not 60. Still, trending in the right direction. Also, just to split hairs, it started out at 1009, not 1008. Okay, I need a fact checker.