The night my baby makes his theatrical debut.
Yes, my 14 year old baby.
The child who would be quite content to spend the rest of his life under a rock as long as he had a good book to read and an endless supply of Cheez-It Party Mix.
Well, maybe that's a slight exaggeration.
A good book, Cheez-It Party Mix, and Mountain Dew Code Red.
Then, he'd be content.
And it's this same child who has shocked us all by voluntarily signing up for Performance Theater for a second semester in a row because...gasp... he likes it.
He really, really likes it. (a la Sally Field)
And so for three performances this weekend, my normally mild-mannered teenager will transform himself into the role of Giles the butler in the timeless classic Oliver Twist.
Not only does he get to throw down the British accent but he gets to shoot two people as well.
All while wearing a jacket with tails.
Clearly this is a win-win.
And might I add, that the fact that he is playing the role of a butler, which I presume carries with it some level of responsibility pertaining to household chores, will only illustrate the depths to which he must reach in order to portray a character so...how shall we say?... so unlike himself.
Surely a Tony nomination awaits him.
Go ahead buddy, break a leg tonight.
We've already reached our deductible at the orthopedist's, so it's all good.