Showtime!

Rose is a great travelling companion.  She provides hours of entertainment...without meaning to.

On our recent trip to Canada, Tim, Rose and I took the train from Montreal to Quebec, about a three hour trip.  Somehow, Rose and I began talking about Les Miserables.  (All the French accents and second-hand smoke must have addled our brains and lured us away from Candy Crush-- Hey, I know.  Let's sit and talk about depressing movies--Terms of Endearment?  No, only one person dies there. Beaches?  Nah.  Only one song came out of that one.  Les Mis?  Perfect!!!  Lots of death and lots of songs about death.  Yeah.  That'll make three hours go by quickly.)

***Spoiler alert: If you haven't seen the play or movie and think that something called Les Miserables is going to have a happy ending, you probably shouldn't watch Old Yeller, Bambi or most other Disney movies involving animals either.  So.  Much.  Death.

Many years ago, Rose and her mom had gone to see the play. 

"How'd you like it?" Tim and I asked afterwards.

"Um.  It was ....good."

"Good?"  Just good?  Didn't you think the ending was so amazing and sad?"

"Not really."

"OMG!  Don't you have a heart?  Everyone dies!!!  How is that not sad?"

"What do you mean, everyone dies?"

"Well, they get sick, shot, blown up, jump off a bridge.  You know...die."

"No.  Only the one woman dies.   Wait.  Who jumps off a bridge?"

"What do you mean, 'who jumps off a bridge?'  What'd you do, sleep through the second half?"

"Second half???  There was a second half?  Didn't it end with a barricade and a really big song where they wave a flag?"

"Yeah.  The flag song was called the end of Act I!!!"

Silence.

"Oh no you didn't.  Please tell me you didn't leave halfway through the show."

"Well, it was over two hours!  How were we supposed to know there was a second half?"

Gee, that is a puzzler.  Didn't you think it was a little odd that nobody else left the theater?  Did you maybe think they were hanging around waiting for autographs?  Hmmm if only there was some way of getting information about the play you were going to see.  You know, a book where they could maybe list the songs, tell you how many acts, give you information about the actors.  Somebody should really invent something like that.

So now, twenty-five years later, I offered Rose my ipad to watch Les Mis and find out who jumped off a bridge (because, really, doesn't everyone have Les Mis on their ipad?).  She popped in her earbuds and that's when the real show began.

"Oh no!,"  she burst out, "That's awful!"

Um, inside voice, Rose.  A few fellow passengers turned their heads.

"No! No!" she bellowed at Hugh Jackman, totally oblivious to the fact that she was louder than the actual French Revolution.

Being a true friend and big help, I, naturally, convulsed in my seat, hysterical with laughter and let her continue.

"Whuuuhhhh.  Oh God!"

"What." she shouted, finally catching sight of my now-purple face.  "Do you want to watch too?"

By now, people four cars away were probably convinced someone was either being murdered or having really kinky sex in the restroom.

Trying to catch my breath, I motioned to her to take the earbuds out.

"Oh.  Can you hear this?" she mercifully popped one out.

Um, no.  Thankfully I cannot hear Russell Crowe mangle the songs because through the magic of technology, that wire is transmitting the sound only to you.  You, on the other hand, are shouting louder than a game show contestant trying to win the all-expense-paid trip for two to Dollywood.

"Oh, was I talking out loud?  Why didn't you tell me?"

Why? Because I was enjoying the show.