Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Care and Feeding of a Stage Mother
I've had to deal with quite a few stage mothers in the past couple of weeks. It was kind of a new experience for me and I wish I had a list of rules to follow -- much like this one I've just made. You are welcome, future generations of theatre workers. Just try to pay it forward.
1.) Never tell stage mothers -- or dance teachers, for that matter -- how creepy it is to see a nine-year-old tarted up in make-up and a short dress. They assume just because you noticed -- whether it makes your skin crawl or not -- there is something genetically wrong with you.
2.) Have plenty of Vodka, Triple Sec, and cranberry juice on hand. Stage Moms ADORE Sex and The City and love to drink Cosmopolitans. They are often single as most right-thinking husbands have left them. However, the courts being how they are:
3.) Have plenty of faux independent beer on hand for the husbands who stuck around (or feel obligated) to watch. Keith's and Rickard's Red seem to be the most popular.
4.) Never tell Stage Mothers/Gary Bettman/Dance Teachers to hurry it the Hell up because of the Crosby/Ovechkin playoff match-up. They don't appreciate the savage ballet that is Professional Ice Hockey. Instead, just pour yourself a scotch and water, no ice, and figure out how to watch it in your office. Not that I did.
5.) Always invoke the safety of their creepy, overly-sexualized child -- because someone has to. God knows, someone has to. "I'm sorry but you can't go back there. What if someone was trying get to your child? We can't let anyone back there except ushers and teachers." Promise the ushers extra hours if they try to convince the kids to wipe off the make-up and play hopscotch or jacks or whatever kids used to do.
6.) Never Let dogs in the theatre -- really this one is just for me. Really, bitch, you thought I'd let your yappy little dog into the theatre? Your Yorkeshire Terrier would really benefit from seeing your stupid, probably untalented niece dancing to Cuban Pete, or some other tired routine? I won't let a can of Coca Cola into my theatre. What makes you think I'd let you bring a yapping, pissing, shitting little dog into my realm?
I notice you did not lodge the complaint with my superiors you claimed you would. So be it.
at 12:52 AM