going to the ballet

Last weekend, Robert and I went to the ballet. Doesn't that sound so cultured? To be honest, I don't know too much about ballet, but I have a soft spot theater and dance performance (Noel Streatfeild's books are my favorite).

Robert willingly accompanied me to Boston Ballet's "Cinderella." We had gone to a number of theatrical productions in the past and enjoyed it ("Caberet","Rent", etc.) so we both looked forward to a fun evening out. We had 2nd row seats so we could see the exquisite details of the orchestra violins to the beading of the ballerina's dress. Little girls dressed in flouncing dresses bounced around us (painting above is a little girl waiting for the curtain to rise, done in my sketchbook soon after). I was in awe. It was gorgeous--the colors, the floating skirts and glowing pumpkin carriage.

But it was not quite the same for Robert. He shifted around, ate all our junior mints and skittles and stifled a yawn or two. After the first act was over, he looked at me and said wryly, "So...they don't talk in a ballet, do they?"

We get home and before going to bed, Robert surfs a bit on the computer to unwind. I continue to gush about the ballet. "Didn't you love the scene at the ball?" "And when the Prince searched and they made it seem like he was going all over the world?" Did you see how the lighting made it seem like they were outside?" Polite nods and smiles. "Yes," he said, "It was nice." But he seems a bit distracted by the internet.

"What are you looking at?" I ask.
"Oh," he said, "I'm just downloading the movie trailer for 'Doom.'"

I think a bloody movie is in my future.