Bye Bye, "Bye Bye Birdie"

In addition to Saturday night's performance, which went off without a hitch, I ended up being Kim McAfee one last time in the Sunday matinee performance. If I ever do any show again, whether it's as an actress or a musician, remind me to be sick or otherwise unavailable for the matinee performances. The really old people come to those. They talk loudly to each other while we're supposed to be saying our lines, then complain loudly to each other that we're not speaking loudly enough and they can't hear us. I'd rather deal with a teen or young adult texting or otherwise playing with his phone  than talk over old people's voices. They have no clue just how loud they are.

My mom filled in last night, then helped the regular pianist, who was at about 60% capacity during the matinee. He had to run out twice during songs, and my mom was right there to take over. My mom worked with him on playing Rosie's notes in her most difficult songs without losing any of the accompaniment. He seemed to get it. My mom was happy to help, but she, too, is about as happy as I am to say goodbye to "Bye Bye Birdie."

They're all off tomorrow, as the company does no shows on Mondays.  That will give piano player's gastric system almost forty-eight hours to recover and will give the real "Kim McAfee" time to get over jet lag, grief, or whatever else ails her.

As far as Bye Bye Birdie and I are concerned, I'm essentially entering the witness protection program. My cell phone number may have to be changed anyway, as my cell phone is defunct. I'm getting a new plan with the new phone, and I'm not sure I'll keep the same number. To those of you who need my number, remind me who you are, and I'll let you know if there is a change.  

If I hear that the real Kim McAfee is sick, injured, catatonic, or otherwise impaired,  I'll probably change my appearance dramatically. Perhaps I'll purchase a fat suit and color my hair Lucille-Ball-red. Then again, maybe I'll have a so-black-it's-almost-blue dye job done. I'll cross that bridge if and when I come to it, but one thing is for sure: I'm not going to be on a stage pretending to swoon as Conrad Birdie sings that gawdawful "Honestly Sincere" song again.

My newest Godchild, Camille Catherine, weighed four pounds, six ounces Sunday morning. Her prognosis for discharge on Wednesday is excellent.