A Midsummer Night's Dream

The “Dream” Cast

Five days after Mikado closed, I got lost in a forest trying to find my audition location.

But I got a part in A Midsummer Night's Dream! I’m Peaseblossom and Fairy. I think I do fae better than human. Too much glitter as a child?

Also, did you know that an entire Shakespeare play can be read in one go? That it does not have to be broken down and spread out over a semester? And that it can be fun? Someone needs to tell the English departments asap.

Rehearsals

Rehearsals were held at an old camp with a big grassy field surrounded by cabins. June flew by because I had all of two rehearsals, and then rehearsals (for me, at least) began in earnest in July. The cast was an odd mixture of G&S people and former students of the directors. And all were extremely good-looking. Am I allowed to say that? I’ve never been in such an attractive cast.

My scenes were mostly with the Fairy Queen and the other three fairies. We also had two dances—choreography was killer indoors without A/C—and one song that we created ourselves using a background track and a shorter version of Shakespeare’s lyrics.

There was a lot of music in the show. I’m not sure what soundtrack they used, but most was quite light with a Celtic feel. The fairy entrance music got to the point where we’d wake up—leap up—just hearing it.

 

 

When we were able to, we rehearsed outdoors on the grass. So freeing! And dirty! But freeing! Fairies do much better with space to play and frolic and the show became more cohesive as larger chunks were played out at once.

 

Unfortunately, working outside meant working with outside noises. Once during our lullaby, a group of motorcycles drove past. During one of Helena’s speeches, an airplane flew overhead, a truck drove past, and a nearby train blasted its horn. She paused for each, and kept going.

 

We did a photoshoot in costume on the beach for promo shots—fun but a little awkward as it was one of the first rehearsals and the fairies didn’t all know each other. One picture was of all five of us—fairies with Queen—jumping off a log and “flying.” As I learned much, much later, the other four were going for a floaty look, whereas I went for a spread-eagle look. Sigh.

We also practiced using “magic dust” for the scenes with spells. The only characters who got mic’d were Oberon—the Fairy King—Titania and Puck, and only when they were saying spells. It was a cool effect but glitter in the eye still sucks. A couple different types were tried out and a couple different cast mates ended up with glitter permanently embedded in their skin.

 

During our first full-costume rehearsal, there was a thunderstorm. Drenching rain, hissing wind, shining lightning, the whole shebang. Suddenly the magical scenes became so much more magical. And awesome!

 

…Especially since I had a ride home that night. Most nights, I took two buses each way, about an hour in transit. This was only bearable since two—sometimes more!—of us took the same route and there was a Tim Hortons halfway through.

This was my first real play and my first Shakespeare, so I was getting nervous. My scene with Puck opened with me dancing and being silly until she interrupted me. To be honest, dancing and being silly—silently—was my favourite part of the scene. But the rest of it was still fun. Puck’s miming of acorn cups always got a laugh and we were plain goofy.

 

Meanwhile, the lovers scenes were becoming more and more established. The amount of lines they memorized—and understood—was crazy intimidating but it made so much more sense with their physicality. There was a fight scene between Lysander and Demetrius where they bitch slapped and pinched and punched and then attempted to canoodle with Helena. And all of Helena’s scenes were spectacular. Girl could recite a grocery list and still have presence.

 

There was a slight hitch when Demetrius showed up at rehearsal with half—just half!—of his hair shorn off. Right side of his head was shaggy. Left side was bald with bangs. This was eventually solved with a surprisingly realistic comb-over in which everyone breathed a sigh of relief and the stage managers sent out a stern email about appearances.

 

A few weeks before opening, the fairies had a make-up rehearsal in which we all met up at a school and played with glitter while back-combing our hair. The directors wanted untraditional make-up, more animalistic than girly. I ended up with a firebird on my nose—gold and brown wings—with peacock circles on one side, and golden, glittering fake eyelashes.

 

And did I mention glitter? And more glitter? And—oh look! More glitter!

Since the society was brand new—Midsummer was their first show—we didn’t know how ticket sales would go. But within days of tickets being released online, all five shows sold out completely! Over a thousand tickets!

 

On the Sunday before opening, we got to rehearse at the venue for the first time. It was spectacular. The stage was built outdoors on the edge of the beach, under a great big white tent so that the audience could look past the actors at the water.

The greenroom was another tent blocked off by potted trees, with corners curtained off for changing and plastic interlocking flooring with bottles of glitter hairspray everywhere. The outside, where the audience members would come in towards the main tent, was decorated with flags and candles and signs with fancy old-English-style writing. Considering a week beforehand it had been nothing but a gravel lot, it was startling pretty, especially during sunset. The only downside to the venue was, alas, the port-a-pottys.

 

 

For that rehearsal--the last normal rehearsal--I came straight from work, which made for the start of a long week. I was nervous because we were days from opening and I was still getting the same note from the directors since we’d begun: be louder. For months, every rehearsal, same note; and it was wearing on me that I couldn’t seem to improve.

 

Tech Rehearsal (Monday)

At tech rehearsal, we had bigger problems than projection. Some of the Rude Mechanicals had taken to playing and experimenting onstage during their scenes, instead of what the directors had preferred in earlier rehearsals. This caused some issues since playing made the show longer, and because the amount of physicality meant that deviating could be dangerous. Also, kinda unprofessional.

 

…which led to friction between actors which led to tech rehearsal being stopped entirely. Drama!

 

Eventually, things were tentatively worked out and rehearsal resumed amidst considerable tension and gossip. The gossip was typical, but the tension was new.

Dress Rehearsal (Tuesday)

At dress rehearsal, relations amongst the cast improved, while I fretted over shoes and lines. I was wearing soft jazz shoes, that are really just cloth with elastic overtop. I wore them in Mikado, but here we were walking outdoors on gravel  and it was uncomfortable, sometimes painful.

 

The costumers couldn’t do anything about my shoes or the gravel, but I was able to talk directly with one of the directors about projection. Specifically, my lack of projection and why am I such a failure. She gave me some pointers and reminded me that I’m up against an ocean.

 

That night I didn’t feel nervous. My scene went great. It felt great. I projected the crap outta it, as loud as I could, and at intermission, one of the directors told me I’d nailed it.

 

Ready for Opening Night!
 

Opening Night! (Wednesday)

We got a standing ovation!

 

Our first real audience—who all had real sunglasses. Their gorgeous view of the stage in front of the water was hindered by the full blast of the sun at sunset, so everyone was given a pair. It worked fine, but for us on stage, it made them all look like secret agents.

I almost—but didn’t!— slip during one of the dances. The stage is particularly slippery because it’s dusty and our jazz shoes have become increasingly less stable as they become smoother with wear. In one dance, I have to run all the way around the stage, a big circle where I run behind Stumpy-the-Chair, right at the far edge of the stage.

 

The stage is six feet high and does not have a railing. Or a safety net for clumsy fairies.

 

I did not fall, thankfully, although I did do a wacky arm movement for balance. Running around the edge will now be considerably slower...

We also experienced the singular experience of Hermia’s burping. Hermia—a very sweet woman who wears an elaborate blonde wig for each show—gets nervous before and during shows and it makes her burp. Loudly. It’s actually quite impressive for such a loud sound to come from such a petite body.

 

Second show (Thursday) 

I made the ‘projection team!’ During a pre-show group talk with the directors, they pointed me out as being one of the loudest in the cast. Finally!

We did a group warm-up, the fairies ran through our lullaby harmonies, I ran through my mini-monologue, and Helena, Hermia and Puck squatted and made very low frog sounds. Everyone has their own warm-up. Don’t judge.

 

My costume was easy as I didn’t have any changes during the show. It was a green bodysuit with “seaweed” all over it (but I am not a frog and will not respond to ‘Froggy’). The lovers and their entourage all had to change into formal wear for the last act however, and the rude mechanicals had to get into their play-within-a-play costumes. The fairies helped by putting lipstick on a man and helping the lion get his roar on. Always fun.

This show was particularly nerve-wracking as my sister and our choreographer were coming. But it went well! No major slip-ups and I projected the hell outta that stage!

Third Show (Friday)

Another sold-out crowd, another standing ovation!

 

It’s a little weird sitting side by side with my boyfriend while we both do our make-up. I guess that’s show business, but it’s still weird. Once when I was half-way through my make-up, with mostly browns on my face, he turned to me and said, “You look like I beat you.”

We did our group warm-up, which ended with everyone shouting “came in her eye!” before separating. Immature maybe, but it’s an actual line in the show.

 

Not actual lines include a game sometimes played while everyone did their make-up: replace a word in a line with ‘butthole.’ Also immature. Also fun. (“Now the hungry butthole roars...” “You juggler! You canker-blossom! You butthole!”)

 

The lovers had a bit of a flub during their scene, when a line was missed and the rhythm stuttered until they got back into it. It was a tiny flub, but Shakespeare is so particular that there’s no ad libbing possible.

 

Near the very end of the show, Puck has a monologue where she whispers spookily, “Now the hungry lion roars, and the wolf howls at the moon.” Tonight, she said, “Not the hungry lion roars,” and immediately a speedboat off on the water started up its engine making a huge roaring sound! So perfect it sounded rigged!

 

After the standing O, we ran offstage after the bows, into the greenroom, and everyone danced and chanted, “Bergomask!” over and over again until we were happily exhausted. A perfect ending to a great night!

 

Fourth Show (Saturday)

It was much breezier tonight, meaning more waves and therefore more background noise to overcome. But fewer mosquitos!

 

With the wind came some angry clouds but—luckily—no thunderstorms. Even light rain would make the show difficult as there’s no cover between the greenroom and any entrance to the stage. But any lightning would mean the whole show would have to be canceled because our tent is held up by lovely metal poles.

 

The audience was absolutely fantastic, very responsive. They laughed right at the start of my scene with Puck and again at Puck’s acorn cups. They’re funny moments but it’s the first time the audience sees fairies—any fairy—so often they don’t get many laughs. But not tonight!

 

Puck was played by a woman—not entirely uncommon—who was incredibly flexible and could contort herself into the oddest positions. She clapped with her feet, leaped fearlessly, and made a green spandex bodysuit look good (I know, I didn’t think I could be done either). The bows were originally staged to have the lovers bow last but this was changed after a few shows—on recommendation from the lovers—that she take the last bow. And from the audience’s reaction to her, they agreed.

Unfortunately, during the last act during the wedding entertainment tonight, one of the lovers’ goblets of water was knocked over. There wasn’t much water in it, and nothing they could do about it at the time.

 

In itself, not a big deal. Until us fairies came on after them to dance, and one of us slipped. Not me! She was up in a snap but the thud gave it away. In other news, we got a review praising the entire show, including the fairies lullaby for our harmonies!

 

Closing Night (Sunday)

The end is nigh!

 

We got to set super early for the cast photo and so we could do our make-up in the squishy greenroom (seven mirrors, twenty odd cast members…) in peace. I ended up spending most of the afternoon talking with my Fairy Queen, who’d I gotten to know fairly well, and taking many, many pictures.

 

The stage manager played 90’s rock hits over the speaker while our other stage manager danced with us—spontaneous dancing was her specialty—as we got ready. My hair doubles in size when I backcomb it. Sad, yet impressive.

 

During the show, we can hear what’s going on through the speakers and we can sneak behind the tent and peek through to watch. I usually only watched a few scenes a night, depending on when I was ready and what else there was to do. Some of the others played Headbands backstage, and Philostrate used to read Plato (and she finished it too!).

 

There were a few scenes that I just loved to watch. The opening where Theseus chases the giggling Hippolyta onstage and attempts to steal her apple. The lovers fights—between Lysander and Demetrius, and between Hermia and Helena—were so much fun and a prime example of why Shakespeare should be seen and not just read (ahem, every English department ever).

 

Near the beginning, Helena tells Dementius that she is utterly willing and would be happy if he treated her merely as a dog. It’s a scene I never particularly liked until Helena brought out her puppy dog eyes and looked so adorable imitating a cocker spaniel that how could you not want her! There was also a scene where Lysander—under a spell—takes a look at Hermia and is so disgusted with her that he almost vomits as he exits. Priceless.

 

The play-within-a-play scene was utter ridiculousness. I still don’t know what ‘loam’ is and suspect the others don’t either, but it must be impressive. Plus, the Wall got both his ears kissed by men. Always fun. Meanwhile, the Director character mouthed along the lines with the actors in the corner, the lion roared, the man used falsetto, the woman (but not the woman character) snapped, and Bottom died. Insanity.

A wonderful way to spend the summer!

At least my pants didn't fall down.

I guess you could say I'm a selfish person.

Scratch that, I'm a very selfish person.

So that's why this Saturday evening, when the several hundred people in the audience watched the lights come up on the stage and saw me, smack dab in the middle, sitting cross-legged in pajamas holding Twilight, that moment was supposed to be all about me.

If there's ever a moment all about you, that's it.

Let's rewind.

At the dress rehearsal, two techs helped me get the headmic on, attaching the pack to the back of my bra, under my shirt. I sang "Happily Ever After" from Once Upon A Mattress with my fabulous accompanist on piano, with the lights dazzling me in a grand theatre, and a photographer snapping away somewhere in the darkness. Awesome. The techs said I'd have to be careful at the show that the antenna on my micpack didn't get bent under my shirt, but that everything else was great.

The day of the show, I didn't even paint my nails to match my outfit. That's how nervous I was.

I arrived early, helped sign people in, smiled pretty at the parent-managers, and tried to relax. This was the third year in a row I'd performed at this show. And since I'm so gosh darn selfish, I knew I'd planned everything I could far in advance so that it would be spectacular.

I guess it kinda was spectacular. Just not in the way I'd planned.

At the end of intermission, the stage manager handed me the headmic. My accompanist helped clip it on and, lemme tellya, there's something really funny about looking in the mirror and seeing a rectangular box prominently sticking out under your shirt. I felt like I was wearing a wire.

I was ready. Totally pumped. The tech wasn't so pumped though, she was a little hesitant, and she made me whisper into the headmic for several minutes to make sure it was working properly.

Finally, she decided that the antenna on the headmic still wasn't picking up securely enough. She unclipped it, and attached it to the back of my pajama pants.

Um...okay, yeah. The pack is fairly heavy, and my pajama pants were actual pajama pants so they just had a regular elastic band at the waist, and it would be really really awful if my pants fell down in the middle of a show...yeah.

So the tech duct taped the pack to my pants. So in case it was too heavy, it would definitely bring down my pants. I'm not sure what her thinking was there.  I was too nervous to comment.

The tech joked that if the headmic didn't work, she'd run on stage and give me a handheld mic like a racer in a relay. I laughed. Sure.

As I stood in the wings, clutching Twilight, I noticed the hole in my sock. Whoops.

At the time, I didn't know that that, or my pants falling off, would be the least of my problems.

The MC finished, my accompanist took her place by the piano, I went straight to centre stage and sat on the long fuzzy grey bench, and the lights came up.

This would be the moment all about me.

I opened my mouth and began the prologue: "And so the Prince Wilmore rescued the Princess Frigga--"

I realized that the headmic was not working the same moment the audience did, but kept going. Shit.

There is a wonderful phenomenon called schadenfreude--Avenue Q wrote a song about it!--and like any audience watching a potential disaster, they were highly entertained.

"Well, I'm glaaaad." I said, at the end of the prologue. That should have gotten a laugh. It didn't because no one was paying attention to the song.

My accompanist, wondering if anything was going to happen to fix the headmic, hesitated before beginning to play. That threw me off, and suddenly, this was no longer a potential disaster.

I was projecting my heart out in the first verse, when I heard something. I turned to the left and the tech was running out with a handheld mic, as she'd promised.

I don't remember much after that. Instead of concentrating on the trouble notes I'd been having, or the right posture, or even the music itself, I was feverishly gripping the handheld mic, wondering if it was too close--close enough?--and hoping desperately not to drop it.

At the end of the song, I sang the last note while standing on the bench, then jumped down and slumped on to it sullenly, as rehearsed. Cue applause.

The techs backstage went to blackout immediately--before I could even stand up and curtsy--so I was swept offstage with the bench and the piano and the MC replaced me with a joke and the bio of the next act.

The relief was overwhelming as I handed off the handheld mic, ripped the duct tape and headmic off, hugged my accompanist, and ran.

This is a classic reason of why I get nervous before performing. Because no matter how much you rehearse, shit will happen. You will fall into the orchestra pit. You will forget the lyrics. You will be left projecting across the theatre with a broken headmic.

I guess it's pretty funny. The audience was definitely entertained, just not in the way I wanted. But I'm aggravated because, gosh darn it!, the moment that was supposed to be all about me, was all about technology.

And thus, I am a selfish person.

I think you're really gonna like my show. I'm pretty sure it doesn't suck.

Yesterday was the talent show :)

Everything was gonna surprisingly smoothly, I barely had to yell at any of the performers (they just get so loud and then people complain...), until ten minutes before the show started and we realized that our opener had not arrived.

Not happening. No way.

We'd had a lot of controversy over how to start the show, since a bunch of politicans would be talking forever and they wanted to be able to be leave right afterwards. We didn't want to open our show with old people talking, so we decided to use a very strong male vocalist.

I spent a signficant amount of time yesterday describing how the curtains would open, the spotlight would come on all dramatically, the music would start and he would wow the audience.

This really wouldn't actually work unless the singer was there.

I decided we would hold to the show to ten past seven and then ask the DJ to open and introduce the politicians.

At 6:58, the singer shows up and I'm ready to strangle him but instead, we ditched his stuff, handed him a mic, and I ran through the lobby into the house to take my seat.

The curtains opened, the spotlight came up, the music started, and he totally wowed the audience all dramatically.

It was at that point that I realized I was holding my ticket and a list of the order than all us members had to be sitting in. So I folded them up and stuffed down my dress. Classy.

After the first singer, the DJ introduced the politicians and they talked and talked and talked and mispronounced the acronym of our organization. The organization that had created the whole evening. The organization whose members they were honouring. Lame.

So the arts centre is stripping all the seats in the main theatre and replacing them and to do that they need sponsors. At the farthest corners, seats cost something like three hundred and fifty dollars. Well this one guy bought fifteen, a whole row, and then asked that they be named about youth who've done lots in the arts.

So we were all called up, and our bios were read out and I posed like a beauty queen and felt ridiculous. But then the cheque came out.

The massive cardboard cheque that was brought directly in front of me while the people shook hands for two minutes (meaning I'm in every picture).

Then all of the honourees (who had been standing in the back the whole time) were asked to crowd around and more pictures were taken. In the middle of our talent show. Which is about youth. And arts. And not cheques or Olympics.

Once they got kicked off the stage, our next act came out (a super cool dance group although I was kinda peeved 'cause they didn't audition 'cause they're all Olympic-y) and the show continued as usual.

I ran downstairs, got changed, rehearsed in my little dressing room (I'd stolen a small private one rather than the massive girls one) and then came upstairs to find out that one of the bands were bummed 'cause they'd been bumped and it was almost intermission.

We got the bands sorted out (there was an issue with the drum set) and after intermission, I went onstage with my friend who was Chair when I was Vice-Chair. It was kinda cool speaking with her again (on stage, I mean) since we spoke at last year's talent show.

Unfortunately, my mic had not been turned on. I don't know why, I was handed it and told to go so I went and no one could hear me. Kinda embarrassing, but we moved on quickly.

I got my headset on real quick at that. I was the fifth act of the second act. My super mega awesome accompanist was ready to go, so once I bothered the techies some more, they actually took my headset a part and taped it up so it wouldn't fall on me. Hehe.

Finally, it was our turn.

The piano was pushed out and hooked up, my chair was brought out and finally, my bio was read out and we took the stage.

I think it went okay. I know it is definitely not a typical song, and it's not necessarily a piece that people would be comfortable with. But I think the crying went well at the end (I went kinda nuts with the ragged breathing since it sounded really cool in the mic).
One of the musicians stopped me and said, "I can't take you seriously anymore, you got scary."

Hehehe!
For the first time in the three years I've organizing this talent show, the ending went well. Usually it drags on, there's too many speechs, too much clapping (that's not necessarily voluntary) and it just keeps going. I'm kinda thinking next year, we should close the curtains, but this year was good too, the DJ kept it quick.

Afterwards, I ran around, gathered all my stuff and then headed outside to meet everyone. I got lots of compliments, although you can't always trust the words of friends, and then one of the women said I gave her goosebumps, which is probably the best compliment I could have received.

It amused me when my friend's family hugged me and then she came and hugged my parents. I don't think they expected it.
"I think you're really gonna like my show. I'm pretty sure it doesn't suck."

Well, actually...

At the theatre for our dress rehearsal, we were working with one man and one woman for professional techs. I've seen the woman before but the man is a newbie. Is it weird that I know that he's a newbie? That's probably weird.

The shiny grand piano was pushed out along with my chair and then I said I'd need a headset.

"We don't have any headsets."

"Well, actually...you do." I'd used them during last year's performance.
"Oh. I'll ask." He asked on his headset (his is huge and for tech people, very different from the one I wanted.) "The receivers don't work."

"Well, actually..."

I got my headset. Hehe.

The rehearsal went okay, I think I need to practice my movements a bit more though since I can't touch my hair anymore. Or move my neck all that much. Gotta love headsets.
Meanwhile, a hiphop dance group couldn't rehearse because they'd only brought their iPod. I asked why.

"We can't play iPods."

"Well, actually..." When my trio performed last year, we had our track on an iPod but it didn't occur to us until two hours before the show that we didn't have a CD. Our bad. The tech people came to our rescue and played it through the iPod no problem.
At this point, the tech guy was looking at me incredulously, probably imagining just how difficult I was going to make the next hour for him.

Sorry, newbie.

take a breath, flip your hair, and sing

Okay. I'm back.

Judging auditions is always interesting. Sometimes you get someone like a 13 year-old break dancer who just blows our minds and makes us remember why we go through all the trouble to organize youth talent shows.

And sometimes you get young girls singing along to Taylor Swift with the vocals still on the CD and staring at their shoes and not moving an inch during the entire four minute song.

Either way, it's entertaining.

And then the teacher let us finger paint and then we ate animal crackers and Jamie called me stupid so I said, "I am rubber, you are glue!"

I'm not that whiny, honest.

But somehow, in my playwriting class, all the characters I've played during the entire semester are high-pitched, whiny brats.

My first monologue (previously posted) involves a 14-year-old very energetic girl. A couple times I've read out in class, and the character has always been weird. And today, for our group play, I was a seven-year-old girl that talks rapidly and giggles.

Afterwards, even one of the guys commented on it.

I've been typecasted. As a child.

Arts at the Darts 2009

Yesterday, I was a fairy for three hours.

Darts Hill is this massive, gorgeous garden that's privately owned. A couple times a year they open it to the public for cool events like last night's Arts at the Darts.

There were paintings, jazz, dancers and (most importantly in my opinion) fairies.

We did our hair all crazy (I put mind in lopsided pigtails hehe) and ugly, drew on our faces and then struggled in Iolanthe costumes.

Iolanthe costumes. Right. Last year, when we struggled out of them ("Thank God I will never wear that bodysuit ever EVER again!"), that was supposed to be the end, but when given the choice between ditzy Disney fairies and earthy, realistic fairies, we totally had to be the ugly ones. I mean, the realistic ones. Waaay more fun to be had.

The Disney fairies, of which there were four, were pretty and friendly and much more relaxed with the public.

Yeah, we weren't.

There were three of us to begin with.

We'd sneak around the paths until we saw someone coming (or more importantly, until they saw us coming), then we'd panic and hide behind a leaf or a twig. Ans hid behind my hair a couple times.

It became a lot of fun, and quite the work out. We scurried and teetered and froze and pranced and scared several people. We were quite shy but posed well for photographers (including one who we thought had a Nikon D80, but no, just a Canon. Pfft.)

Then the kids got a hold of us.

"Hey, a fairy! Get it!"

Oh no. No, no, no, this is not good. Smt sprinted one way, Ans and I hid while the kids followed her, then raced down another path after hearing more kids coming down ours.

There were people everywhere. It's really hard to re-group when you have to keep stopping every twenty seconds and hiding. And you can't just hide, you have to hide then peak then hide again.

We went all over these paths but couldn't find Smt anywhere, so eventually we gave up and headed back to the tent but were ambushed before we could get there by these two girls.

Pink Girl (maybe 8-9 years old?) and Blue Girl (her older sister, maybe 13 or so) decided they were going to follow us and imitate us.

Woah. We are the entertainment here, okay, not the toys.

It was cute at first, I started imitating them imitating us. Then Pink started doing ballet moves which I badly repeated and gave us the first clues of her attitude ("I do ballet too, I'm really good."). It was sorta fun to play with them 'cause we kept frustrating them with our muteness ("I know you can talk. Talk! Pleeeease talk? I just want to hear your voice. No, I've already heard you laugh, that doesn't count! C'mon, just say something. I know you're just a performer, I dance, I'm a performer too but I still talk. ...Talk!)

Once we were surprised by this old guy walking along so we hid behind a bird feeder and heard him say, "I don't believe in fairies, I don't believe in pixies..."

So we stalked him for a bit.

Then later we made our way down towards the art booths where one guy, holding several paintings cried, "Ahh! Don't eat me!"

Dude, we're fairies. We're vegetarians.

Pink Girl and Blue Girl (and now their friends and brother) found us again just as we found Smt and Eml, the third and fourth Iolanthe fairies.

Pink would not leave me alone. She tried to act like a fairy with me, she tried to teach me high fives (mohahaha, I would not do it correctly), she even tried to convince me that I should stop pretending with her. She wiped her finger across my cheek, smearing my make-up, and held it up, "Look, it's just eyeshadow."

Well, duh.

But I couldn't say that, so I became in awe at the sparkles on her finger instead. Oo, shiny.

By the time it was over, I was exhausted. The constant crouching, jumping, running from really energetic kids (where were their parents?!) wasn't what I had expected so Ans, Smt and I were ready to get the hell out of there and specifically out of our body suits.

Walking out of the park was really funny. We still had make-up and hair (I had a very leafy fairy wand in mine too), but normal clothes, and there were still people hanging around the parking lots packing up.

I heard that we, the Iolanthe fairies, were the favourite fairies though, so it made it worthwhile.