Out Movin'

We attended the national tour of Broadway's "Movin' Out," the eye-popping contemporary ballet by Twyla Tharp. The choreography reminded me of the street gangs and their high-stepping hoopla in "West Side Story." It was amazing to see the performers sling and toss each other around the stage. I wondered how many dancers they break each week.

I don't believe I've seen such sustained, athletic footwork and acrobatics in any production, ever. I popped a groin tendon simply watching the second act from the balcony.

That after tearing deltoid and brachioradial muscles ripping into a box of Junior Mints during intermission.

My ulna, scapula, and clavicle may sit out the season. Or, at least, Dots and Mike and Ikes.

Perhaps, I should exercise more. But that was such a perfect push-up, back junior year, high school, 1969. I'll never top it.

Oh, I've come close: Floor-palming, hacking cough, 1987.

Came close, but no cigar. (Someone had offered me a puff on a Virginia Slim.)

Besides, when I get down to exercise, my wife says, "Don't go changing, to try and please me. I want you just the way you are."

Isn't she sweet? That's true love.

She's also my lucrative life insurance beneficiary.

When I die, her Turtle Wax and Rice-A-Roni will be free for a year.

I have the Fabulous Parting Gifts Policy.

So, I won't "go changing."

--Hey, ironically, those words are from a Billy Joel song and "Movin' Out" uses all of his hit music as the soundtrack.

I found the evening inspiring. To honor Billy Joel, going home, I wrecked two cars, ditched my beautiful wife, and became engaged to a trophy fetus.

Soon, I'll go changing diapers, to try and please her.