In Which Your Humble Blogger has progressive lenses now, which helps a lot.
In Which Your Humble Blogger would actually get cast in the contemporary one about the middle-aged man getting married, achieving the normal domestic life he never thought he wanted and finding out that it really is all that.
In Which Your Humble Blogger knows of a woman from Bryn Mawr who wanted to meet Bernard Shaw. When she was asked why, she made no reply, but sharpened an axe and a saw.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets a couple of laughs, anyway, so that's all right, Best Beloved, d'y'see?
In Which Your Humble Blogger reminds y'all Gentle Readers that you gotta see the show cause then you'll know the vertigo is gonna grow cause it's so dangerous, you'll have to sign a waiver.
In Which Your Humble Blogger trods the boards. Squeak!
In Which Your Humble Blogger stumbles blindly on. Sorry, Brooke.
In Which Your Humble Blogger things it's a drag.
In Which Your Humble Blogger could instead have written a much more sensible note about the 're' and 'er' spellings.
In Which Your Humble Blogger enjoys a very special, really magnificent part of the process. Or is it really special? No. Really marvelous and... wait, that's not right, either. Very special, really magnificent. I'm almost sure.