Last night, in my duties as freelance theater critic, I had opportunity to attend a storefront theater called the "Cornservatory." See, they do comedies. Corny comedies. So instead of "conservatory," it's called "cornservatory." Get it?
Anyhoo, my beloved husband did me a solid by picking me up after the show, as he was in the neighborhood attending a roller derby scrimmage. Apparently, the jauntily wacky sign announcing the presence of the Cornservatory amused him. As I got into the car, he said in a tone of dignificed reverance, "You were at THE CORNSERVATORY," as if to say "you were at the Met." Then, as I recounted how awful the show was, he kept interjecting, "Really? At THE CORNSERVATORY??" in a tone of shocked dismay. It was funnier than the entire show.
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1 comment:
You should have a parent advisory on the blog, Kay, because that is the kind of discussion that should only be shared with cornsenting adults.
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