I was sitting in the dimly lit auditorium with a dozen or so others, waiting to watch the ballet mistress put the girls through the wringer for their upcoming performance of Coppelia.
Shortly before the action started, the only other father in the room wended his way me-ward and plopped down in the seat on the other side of my daughter's pink parka. He introduced himself with a New England accent and dove right into bragging.
His daughter not only dances but commands first-chair status in the middle-school band. Tenor sax. She can play all the instruments, as a matter of fact, and is an all-A student to boot. Popular as it gets, quite frankly. And blah and blah and blah and blah ... and did I mention blah?
He had to interrupt this litany of the little saint when the little saint herself rushed up, asked him to hang onto her bracelet, and darted off. (Okay, okay, he hadn't been exaggerating about the emerald eyes or cascading locks of shimmering gold.) She was no sooner gone and the beat, unsurprisingly, went on.
Walking out to the car what seemed like several years later, I asked my daughter if she knew the girl I'd been reluctantly learning so very much about. My daughter said she only knew the girl by name, and that she played some kind of instrument in the school band.
"A bunch of girls were mad at her tonight," my daughter added. "They think she took Zoey's bracelet."
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The proud father, no doubt HAD to put a generous amount of lipstick on that little pig.
ReplyDeletelaugh out loud ending. perfect pitch. And I really love the way you put the reader right there with you with phrases like, "next to my daughter's pink parka" and "introduced himself with a New England accent ..." and my new favorite phrase I wish I could steal but of course I can't as it's so you: "wended his way me-ward."
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