A night of grown up fun. Plus burritos!

Beau and I are very into the holiday spirit. We have the tree (decorated in tasteful neutrals plus one pickle ornament which is supposedly a German tradition), and the garland on the bannister (which makes it hard for me to climb the stairs without destroying it), and we spend most evenings on the couch watching Christmas specials. On Friday, we ventured from our splendidly decorated home for the ultimate in Christmas treats: a trip to see Handel's Messiah at Boston's Symphony Hall. This also fills my requirement to have at least one night a month of good adult entertainment without drinking something rum-based and wrestling Mistress at a party in Quincy. Not that that happened the following night or anything.

After explaining at work that I was wearing a dress instead of my usual Friday jeans because I actually had real plans and not an interview elsewhere, we trotted over to the Prudential Center for some pre-performance snacks. It was less trotting and more geisha-stepping because I was wearing my fantastic 4-inch Tahari heels which are surprisingly comfortable, but for those uncoordinated types, slightly difficult to walk in. I don't care though because I spend most of the day on my butt and I like to look dashing when I get up to make my photocopies.

In all our finery we sat in the food court and ate burritos instead of a fancy dinner. I do not feel the need to justify this choice. Several have scorned my decision to pass up a chance for my boyfriend to spend money on me. To them I say, burritos are worth all the steak-house dinners in the city. I love a good burrito.

Fast forward 10 minutes later when we arrived at Symphony Hall where the ticket taker immediately confiscated Beau's coffee. We arranged ourselves in the designated lower balcony section and began the obligatory commentary on the naked statues, naked cherubs, and authentically old fashioned wooden seats. At first, the authenticity was appreciated. Who needs plush upholstered seats? We're tough like the pilgrims. We sit in wooden seats and we LIKE IT. We like it until my broken tail bone begins to pipe up about 15 minutes into the performance. Then we don't like it so much because I begin fidgeting like a 6-year-old during Sunday Mass.

Despite having about 10 years worth of training on a classical instrument and having sat through several million orchestral performances, I just plain don't have the vocabulary or pretentiousness to properly critique what I saw. So instead we will play one of my favorite games using an artist's rendering of the people seated in the balcony across from us and the phrase "Which one of these things does not belong?":




Leave your answers in the comments section below. Especially you, Face. I know you read my blog. Stay tuned for the exciting answer coming soon!