The toilet paper finale wasn’t bad at all.
I'm not talking about my MASSIVE Bowel Movement after eating all of that Christmas food.
..which really was quite spectacular.
I should have taken pictures.
But I digress...
I'm talking a Blue Man Group post-mortem.
Here we go...
So…we went to see Blue Man Group on Sunday.
It was – as usual – AWESOME.
But, the day before we went – Saturday – I decided to go to the website and get some updated directions to the theater.
"Oops...that's video porn...how did I pop on there?"
(ten minutes and two tissues later, I actually GO to the "Blue Man" site)
On the "About the Show" page, I see it:
“Persons under the age of 5 are not permitted in the theater.”
My son is four.
I’ve spent $280 bucks on these tickets.
What will they do?
Check his ID? Ask for a birth certificate?
All he’s got is his fake ID that he uses to buy me medicinal marijuana…and it says his name is “McLovin.”
I’m not sure it will fly.
We’ll have to fake it.
We’ll make him five.
For the next 8 hours into the following day, we drill him as follows:
Us: “Cam…if someone asks you how old you are…you tell them ‘Five.’ Got it?”
Cam: “Got it.”
We drill him on this for several hours.
Finally, we think he's on board with being five for a day.
Then...we then go through stress tests.
Like, in the middle of playing with his robots I jump into the family room:
Me: “How old are you, little boy?!”
Cam: “I’m five!”
I try using guerilla tactics to throw him off...
...sneaking up when he’s in the bathroom...
Me (breaking door down): “How old are you?!?”
Cam: (SCREAMS HYSTERICALLY)
Me: “Sorry. Sorry. Finish going poo. And...um...don't worry about all that. My fault. I'll clean that mess up later.”
Anyway, we got him to answer “Five” every time.
Now, we stress to him that he’s to NOT tell someone his age unless he’s asked.
He gets it.
We go to Boston.
The first order of business is lunch.
We stop at a Bennigan’s in the Theater District, as my children will eat only the following things:
Daughter: Grilled Cheese or Hot Dog
Son: Chicken Nuggest or ‘Mac and Cheese’
Connoisseurs of Cuisine, my children.
But, because my kids are so picky, the taste of Bennigan’s chicken nuggets sends my son into a fit of dry-heaves…as the chicken actually has some type of breading on it that doesn’t resemble Purdue’s dinosaur bits.
This happens every so often, where I’m forced to yell at my son as he’s making the “I’m going to throw up face”:
“DON’T SPIT IT OUT…SWALLOW IT…SWALLOW IT…”
(which, come to think of it, reminds me that I have only 6 hours left on my Spice Channel On-Demand rental)
Mac and Cheese it is.
4 people, 1 dry-heaving session, and 5 meals later…
...we head to the show.
…whereas upon handing the ticket to the guy at the door, my son deftly announces to everyone:
“I’m five! My sister is seven!”
Smooth, son. Very smooth.
But we got in.
As usual, the show was awesome.
And the toilet paper finale that my daughter was so worried about?
Well, it’s different when you’re in the balcony and get to throw it down on top of the people below you.
They had a BLAST.
…because we then got to LISTEN to the shuffling sound of the toilet paper avalanche (instead of being in it’s deadly, rampaging path) as it slowly crept towards the stage…
…where, unfortunately…two old women were sitting in the front row…
…helpless…little old ladies…
I can only assume that the massive amount of TP simply snapped their osteoporosis-plagued bones, folding them like origami, where they then disappeared beneath the seats.
…as I don’t remember seeing them after the show.
You live and learn with Blue Man.
If you read my blog, Agnes, you stupid old bitch...then you would have been prepared for the TP.
I warned everyone ahead of time.
Just ask my five year old son.