...I spent some quality time in my closet last night after perfecting my pouty look for "O mio babbino puke-o" which I will, sadly, enough, be adding to the audition rep.
Any time spent in the closet with my clothes is time well spent, and this time, I was on a mission to find something girlier, cuter, and younger to wear for my audition tomorrow, and basically, until I can afford the time and money to find a new dress. In a color other than black...maybe blue? Everyone says I'm ravishing in blue... sigh.
So, anyway, I came up with something that will work perfectly! Oh, the depths I have not lately plumbed in that closet. There are like a thousand things I forgot I have. (In college, I used to spend hours trying on different combinations of things, and would routinely change outfits between classes, often three or four times a day) But I was happy to discover that my prowess at putting together random separates to create an interesting whole has not diminished...
For the audition: A puff-sleeved sheer georgette blouse with drapey ruffles down the front, over a black camisole and black skirt, with an adorable black belt to cinch it in and create a little peplum-looking thing (separates will make me look shorter, they tell me), and black peep toe pumps with a lower heel. It sounds kind of ridiculous, but in the end, the effect is a throw-back to the 30s kind of modern. Not stupid looking in the least. So, I was happy about that, and wore it around the house awhile until Joe got home, so I could show him.
I guess I'm not used to trying to play down the fact that I'm tall...in the real world (read: NOT OPERA) tall is good. Tall girls can gain lots of weight before people notice. Tall girls look imposing and powerful. But in opera, it seems, it's really quite a liability...if only we could grow the tenors a bit bigger, I could wear heels as high as my little heart desires. The hormones in our food and water apparently aren't having the same effect on them as they've had on me.
The other thing I've been discovering, from talking to people, and well, I guess I already knew, deep inside: If I were a dramatic, I could do anything I wanted short of throw up on stage and still get jobs. I could wear a brown business suit to auditions, I could be seven feet tall, I could wear black (sighhh), I could be forty pounds heavier. Or maybe I'm exaggerating a little.
After tomorrow's audition, we'll come home and eat canned soup probably. Because we're that poor. For real. I'm waiting for my hot air balloon with $50,000 that's going to crash in my yard. I know it's going to happen.