That was just a dream: Oh no, I've said too much; I haven't said enough

We had spent days preparing ourselves for an evening of culture and sophistication. And here we were...strolling through Balboa Park's rose gardens as we headed to the Old Globe theater. We brought Doug along even though he'd been cruelly lording it over us that he'd attended "Hamlet" in the original Globe Theater in England. "I mentioned it in passing ONCE," Doug grumbled, "Is that the definition of lording?" We were also annoyed with him because he refused to attentively listen to my hourly synopses about our Shakespearean play, "A Midsummer Night's Dream." 

"Fun fact," I announced at dinner, "Three of the 27 moons of Uranus (I pronounced it academically, Your-en-us, so that Sydney and I wouldn't break out in immature giggles and lessen the impact of my fun fact) are named after the forest folk of the play; Oberon, Titania, and Puck." I included Puck's quote about "girdling the earth" which sounded very celestial but Doug was too occupied in consuming his Asada fries to digest this information.

I researched and watched videos pertaining to "A Midsummer Night's Dream"...delighting in one Youtube version that had two little girls giving a giggled explanation as adult actors mirrored their dialog and direction. I story-boarded the heck out of this play. "It's a play within a play," I announced, "A bumbling band of actors are planning to perform Ovid's Pyramis & Thisbe (upon which Shakespeare heavily borrows in his writing of Romeo & Juliet)..." 

I watched as Doug pulled down his colonial-era barrel-sized container of protein and shook it...

I laughed, "I remember the name because I keep thinking Pyramid & Frisbee instead of Pyramis & Thisbe..."

Doug picked up some hedge-clippers and headed out to prune the rose bushes. I followed him.

"There are four stories going on simultaneously," I continued as Doug searched for evidence of lacing on his leaves, sure evidence of an infestation of Japanese beetles. I provided Doug with a detailed accounting of each sub-story, setting, and symbolism as he trimmed trees, emptied the hot water heater, washed the dog, and mowed his grass. I arranged for all of us to do an abbreviated Reader's Theater performance on the beach at Coronado at sunset but Savannah and Doug took too long admiring the architecture of the hotel so we missed our window of opportunity.

The play was wonderful.

We sat in the outdoor theater...an August crescent moon peered down upon the Midsummer moon on stage as a mystical fog enveloped us. 

Doug had thoughtfully provided us with a program (which helped us to overlook his strange snack selection of Red Vines over the more appropriate Twizzlers) that shared the Afro-punk/Marvel vision behind the costumes and choreography so we could better appreciate it throughout the performance. 

It was fast-paced, energized, quick-witty, quirky, and fun. My past experience with the Bard was burdened with heavy dialogue, weighty themes, and exhausting endings. This was frivolous fantasy... flirtatious... offensive...fabulous. He may be no Adam Sandler but, my goodness, Shakespeare is FUNNY.

Sydney and I raved all the way back to the car. "I was a bit surprised by the lack of subtlety during the Bacchanalia scene," Sydney admitted. "What scene?" Doug asked, stopping in his tracks as Sydney whispered in his ear. "They showed THAT on stage?" he said incredulously. Clutching his Red Vines, Doug breezed past me to open my car door. "Three days of summation and you failed to mention THAT particular scene?" he snarled, slamming it shut. Before he entered the vehicle, I whispered quickly to Sydney, "Should I tell him about Helena's speech to Demetrius to "use me but as your spaniel?"" "Dear lord, no!" Sydney said, "he's still recovering from your fun fact about Uranus."