It wasn’t meant to be this way. Mrs Carmichael has been looking forward to Thursday, 23rd May for quite some weeks. More so since the weekend gone when she was ‘Luhrmanned’ within an inch of her 3D life and forced to pen a review of The (not so) Great Gatsby, Baz Luhrmann and The Great Gatsby, 3D Style (a Review) because she ‘ had the……. conviction that life was beginning once again with the [evening]’. Thanks, F. Scott I can take it from here.
The back story:
As some of you, my Second Life confidents, already know I am due to see Northern Ballet’s Great Gatsby tonight with my Kiwi friend, S……
Yesterday before I drove to Birmingham (and back) to lunch with Daughter #2, post uni exams (hers not mine), I took a deep breath and approached my ‘put everything important in here’ drawer to retrieve the tickets so I could relax on the hundred mile journey north safe in the knowledge that I would not be begging Sadler’s Wells to let us in or scouring online bank statements to prove payment. That has happened before. The drawer has been known to let me down. It’s a scary place.
Anyway, hooray and hallelujah, I found the tickets in a heart beat. My heart swelled with relief and joy. And then it burst. I read the date. I read the date again. I checked my calendar. The date had gone. A week ago. Exactly.
There was no doubt about it. Mrs Carmichael had f&*%ed up. Big time. And she couldn’t even blame the drawer.
Putting a very brave face on it I text S…… with profuse and abject apologies. I textually prostrated myself at her feet, begged forgiveness and promised redemption (my own that is) on my return from Birmingham. Somewhat sadly for me, everything she plans goes off without hitch.
Note to self: socialise with lower flyers on more of a regular basis.
I exited Casa Carmichael with speed and stealth unable to discuss my failings/destroyed evening out with judgemental family members various just at that moment.
I had a good time in Birmingham, ate Caesar salad, no croutons, managed to stay spending on Daughter #2 to a bikini for Ibiza (upcoming birthday) and tested my tale out on her. She is the dancer and as such concentrated on the shame of having missed out on this:
The castigation, I realised, was coming later.
Actually, you know what it really didn’t. And that’s a good thing. I think because mea culpa was the only route available to me I milked it for all it was worth. And S……, has a big day in her big job so pretends to be relieved. Please God she doesn’t read the excellent reviews.
“I’ve only got myself to blame,” I shall use more frequently in the future I have decided.
Right now I’m typing this instead of bearding ‘the drawer’ to check play tickets for next Thursday, Mayerling tickets, early June and hotel bookings north of Barcelona.
Wish me luck. It’s going to be a hell of an afternoon but, as we now know, I’ve only got myself to blame.