Last night I finally got to use the theatre tickets I received for Christmas. I showered, washed my hair, put on some make-up and donned my best little black dress. I thought that was standard procedure for people bound for the 'legitimate theatre' in a major city. How wrong I was!
Yes. Detroit has a thriving theatre and cultural district. But I digress.
My excursion into culture shock began at the restaurant, an iconic Italian gem of the best old-school sort, with tuxedo'd waiters and antipasto platters on every table. Seated all around us were fellow patrons dressed in perfectly appropriate attire - for a backyard barbeque. Honestly, people. I know it's Wednesday night, but couldn't you clean up a little?
As I suspected, most of the restaurant's great unwashed were also theatre-bound.
When you aren't motivated to fix yourself up a bit for this, my guess is you just don't care enough to make the effort for anything.
You ain't seen nothin' yet.
I thought the tennis shoes, T-shirts and jeans were bad, but it was about to get worse. The young woman seated next to me, clad in tank top and stretch pants, pulled off her shoes, put her white-footie-sock'd feet IN THE SEAT and plopped a huge box of candy between her legs from which she noshed throughout the performance. Really.
More evidence of the coarsening of our society.
Silly me. Even in a blue-collar town, even in difficult economic times, I still think there are things worth dressing up for, if for no other reason than to show respect for the occasion. Who knows; it might even help us feel better about ourselves for a little while. You know... special.
Ah, respect for self and others. Another antiquated notion. I miss it. See? I am a dinosaur - and I wouldn't have it any other way.
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