So it went. He tossed me aftershave-saturated smiles whilst I sat in a corner of my mind wishing for a good book and trying in vain to recognize the person behind the jovial mask. We trotted around our makeshift stage like Shakespeare's proverbial players, parrying words and actions for hours on end. He spouted his share of mindbogglingly peculiar monologues, quite a few of which Hamlet himself might have envied. It's amazing how many answers there are to that "to be or not to be" nonsense, and even more amazing that one person possesses the ability to elucidate them all at the drop of a hat. Repeatedly. Implementing grammar that I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from correcting.

Heavens, that makes me sound pompous... But it was essential that I concentrate on something other than the actual words. That's my excuse, anyway, not that it lessens the pomposity.

Besides, it meant I didn't have to talk much, which was fine with me. I got to be the ingenue for the evening, blinking behind my mask as the show dragged on and on.

And, like any good girl, I made a break for the nearest exit as soon as the curtain fell. If Hamlet expected me for the curtain call, tough luck. To say nothing of encores. Oh, shudder. Fly, Fleance, fly...

That's an awful name, Fleance... And no, I can offer no explanation for the lad's sudden appearance in this figurative Elsinore. By rights, it should have been good ol' Opie and her nunnery. But consistency is overrated as it is (see entries 1-110), and I'll cook up a Shakespearian stir fry if I want to.

Right.

Adieu.