Tied up on stage - An Actors life (F) NEW PART POSTED
Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2022 9:43 am
An Actors life - Episode the First
I was 18 when I decided to quit school and move in with my English Professor.
As you can probably imagine, this decision somewhat failed to meet the approval of either my friends, or family, but I was young and naive, and he was a published author with a voice like silk and a fancy cappuccino maker.
Despite all expectations we lived together happily for three wonderful years, right up until the moment that I discovered that he'd been cheating on me with my best friend.
I like to think I took the news about as well as might reasonably be expected.
By which I mean, I cut off the sleeves from his fancy suits, melted all of his vinyl and carved a series of rude words into his perfectly manicured lawn.
I also stole the cappuccino maker.
Later, when I had been invited (by the police) to leave the property, my parents graciously offered to allow me to stay with them until I could get back on my feet.
It was a welcome, if rather humiliating proposition - not least because it meant sleeping on my childhood bed complete with One Direction bedspread - but at least I had a roof over my head.
So there I was, a divorcee at the grand old age of 21, sentenced to live out my remaining days a lonely bachelorette until, inevitably, I would be eaten by my own cats.
It was in this, rather sunny disposition that I first laid eyes upon the notice in the church window advertising open auditions for a local amateur dramatic group.
To this day, I'm still not sure what compelled me to take the flyer - I guess I thought it might be a fun way to meet new people, or maybe I just wanted an excuse to leave the house during the day - either way, that night after a particularly depressing series of rejection letters, I found myself calling the number listed and, after a brief chat, agreed to attend their next meeting in the old rectory.
Truth be told, I wasn’t even looking to get cast in the play, I'd have been just happy to get involved in sewing costumes or painting the scenery, but when the Director heard that I’d done some acting at school (I like to think I gave the definitive performance of Daisy - the cow from Jack and the Beanstalk) she positively insisted that I try out for the female lead.
'Curvy', 'generous' and 'buxom' are all plus sized euphemisms which have been used to describe my body-shape over the years - along with some decidedly less generous terms which need not trouble us here - so I was more than a little surprised that they would consider me for such a pivotal role (although it probably didn't harm my cause that I was the only cast member under 40). However, as a proud BBW (that's Big beautiful woman, for those of you less familiar with online dating profiles) I thought I owed it to myself to at least give it the old college try.
According to no less an authority than Spencer Tracy, the secret to giving a good performance is to know your lines and avoid bumping into any furniture - and by that metric alone my audition was a roaring success - I even managed to elicit a few laughs from the dialogue - but it was still a considerable surprise when, a week later I saw my name at the top of the call sheet.
Cue hearty congratulations and backslapping's all round from my erstwhile co-stars.
"Made it, Ma! Top of the world!" I thought to myself as I rode the bus home.
Still feeling elated from my casting I decided to pass the time by highlighting all the parts of the script where my character was speaking.
'Golly' I noted 'there sure are a lot of lines to learn'.
It soon became clear that my character seemed to lack every skill required for undercover police work (for one thing she thought it was entirely appropriate to wear her uniform to a stake-out) and after a series of hilarious mishaps she was captured by the villains and taken hostage.
'Oh my!' I exclaimed, finding myself starting to perspire with nervous excitement as I read how Billie was bound and gagged by a deranged Scottish hit-man.
I could hardly believe my eyes. Did this mean I was going to have to get tied up - on stage - in front of everyone!?
Now at this point I should probably disclose that, ever since I was a little girl, I’d been secretly fascinated by the idea of being taken prisoner and was quietly thrilled whenever I stumbled upon a cartoon, or a kids movie, that featured a damsel in distress.
Indeed, as far back as I can remember I'd privately longed to be kidnapped and made helpless like the characters in my story books, but had always been far too scared to ever tell anyone.
And now I was going to spend at least two nights (and a matinee) acting out my most secret fantasies in front of a fee paying audience. Well, it was almost too much to process.
Feeling flushed with embarrassment at the stirrings in my nether regions I hurriedly stuffed the offending document deep into my satchel and resolved to get off at the very next stop lest anyone take notice of my ever reddening face.
Finally back in the sanctuary of the family residence I rushed up the stairs to my room to study the script in greater detail.
Reading (and then re-reading) the section it quickly became clear that my character spent a significant portion of the second act hoping across the stage whilst in a state of bondage.
It was a really funny scene, with lots of doors slamming and comic pratfalls, but all I could think about was what it would actually feel like to be trussed up in front of all of my friends and family.
Then, a rather chilling thought occurred - Would anyone be able to tell that I was, quote/ unquote 'into it'?
Nervously, I decided to take the scientific approach - to whit, perform a live reenactment of the scene in the hope that it would help me conceal my state of arousal come the first rehearsal.
Giddy with excitement I rushed around the house gathering supplies, selecting an old dressing gown cord, a roll of packing tape left over from the move, and a bunch of handkerchiefs for my ropes and gags.
Next came the costume. In order to make things feel as authentic as possible I decided I wanted to dress the part as well - which meant assembling a faux police uniform from the disparate items in my wardrobe - no mean feat when you consider that I spend most of my waking hours dressed like a goth scarecrow.
Sifting through the mountain of ripped jeans and oversized tour shirts I finally discovered one of my old school shirts and a pair of smart green trousers I last wore for a job interview that I spectacularly failed to get.
Having decamped to my parents bedroom to make use of their full length dress mirror (it was a little after three in the afternoon so both were still at work) I slipped my arms into the neatly pressed sleeves and slowly buttoned up the starched white blouse (leaving the collar open) before clumsily struggling into the pair of, rather uncooperative slacks.
Relieved to finally be able to breath out again, I proceeded to tuck the shirt tails into the waistband of the trousers before perching on the edge of the bed to apply my church shoes and a pair of thick black socks.
Costume change complete - I stood and admired myself in the mirror.
Growing up I had always loathed having to wear anything with sleeves, much less a collar, but now found, to my considerable surprise and delight, that I rather liked how formal and proper it felt to be dressed this way.
But something still wasn't right - my character was really obsessive about all things related to her job, it stands to reason that she would be equally fastidious about her police uniform.
Taking a deep breath, I reached up to button the top button of my blouse.
The collar was now at least a size too small, but after a great deal of effort I was finally able to fasten it into place.
My heart was beating hard, I'd never worn a shirt like this before (even whilst at school) but somehow I knew this was just how my character would dress, besides which, I was surprised to discover that I rather liked the way that it looked on me.
Behold your new Queen of Geek Chic.
I tied my long red hair, usually worn as a mess of curls, into a tight bun and smiled to myself - the transformation was complete - now there just remained the small matter of rendering myself immobile,..
Perched on the edge of the bed I began to firmly tape my feet together, wrapping the sticky brown packing material around my thick ankles a total of four times before ripping it free from the roll.
Kicking out my legs I found myself marvelling at the sight of my bound legs.
Even though I would have been able to get free any time I chose, it still felt strangely thrilling to have, even a small part of my body restrained.
Deciding to take things one step further I shook out one of my Dad's old handkerchiefs (don't worry - it was clean!) and placed it over the lower half of my face and pulled it snugly (but not too tightly!) around my mouth.
I then watched myself in the mirror as I knotted the material behind my head and under my ponytail.
Whilst I quickly discovered that the makeshift gag wasn't terribly effective in keeping me quiet, it certainly looked the part, and with my hands clasped behind my back it was easy to lose myself in the fantasy that I was a helpless damsel in distress.
I then spent a thoroughly enjoyable few minutes mewing to myself in the mirror, trying out various facial expressions - joy, despair, hope, pleasure,..
Perhaps unsurprisingly I soon discovered how hard it was to convey emotions when half your face was covered with a triangle of thick fabric (well, duh!)
Then, almost immediately, the solution presented itself - I would tie the handkerchief in my mouth, just like they do in the movies!
With grim determination, I folded the cloth into a thick band before nervously placing it between my teeth and pulling it as tight as I dared and double knotting it behind my head.
"Mmmphh!" I heard myself yelp with excitement.
I really shouldn't really be doing this, I thought to myself, much less enjoying it.
But in order to make myself truly helpless I knew I would need to find some way of restraining my hands.
After a handful of failed attempts at performing a self-tie, I did what any self respecting member of Generation Z would do, and looked it up on the internet.
Following the instructions on the, super helpful, youtube instructional video I began by wrapping the dressing gown cord around each of my wrists, leaving the ends of the ropes free so that I could make a knot. I then cinched the cord between my wrists so they were tied into separate cuffs - a quick double bow knot later and I was thoroughly bound.
Satisfied with my afternoon's work, I slipped the gag back between my teeth and stared with fascination at my image in the glass.
It was hard to believe that this buttoned-up stranger was me.
Not only that, but was it my imagination, or did I look kinda' of cute with a gag in my mouth, my round cheeks bulging out over the starched white handkerchief,..?
Everything felt so tight and restrictive, the ropes around my hands, the tape around my ankles, even the buttoned collar of my blouse. And with my hands fastened behind my back (as per the stage directions) there wouldn't be anything I could do about it,..
And just to think, I was going to spend the next two months rehearsing being tied up like this, with no one any the wiser that I was secretly loving every second.
However, just as I was about to fully lose myself in the fantasy of being a captive police officer, I heard the unmistakable sound of the key turning in the front door.
I frantically glanced up at the clock.
"Cripes!" I thought to myself (or words to that effect) my parents were home from work already.
“Hannah, can you downstairs come and help set the table?" Mom called up from the hall.
"Mmph-Just coming!" I replied, frantically plucking the gag from between my teeth.
Flushed with panic, I hurriedly slipped free from my ropes (a far trickier manoeuvre than expected) and tore the tape from around my ankles.
After frantically stashing the items under my pillow I was halfway down the stairs before I realised that I was still wearing my father's handkerchief tied loosely around my neck.
Suddenly gripped by blind panic at the thought of my secret shame being discovered I struggled to undo the double knot before finally stuffing it into the back pocket of my trousers.
"Neither of us felt like cooking tonight so we're going to order takeout" Mom explained as I began dishing up the plates.
"Pizza?" I said hopefully, already salivating at the prospect.
"Sure, why not? Fredo's okay for everyone"
"Fredo's - yum!" I proclaimed.
"Sounds good - I'm famished" Dad agreed, adding his vote to mine.
During lockdown my parents had read an article that said that the more often families eat together, the less likely the kids are to smoke, drink, or elope with a married man twice their age, and so every night I'm forced to endure a forensic interrogation at the hands of my Mother on the events of the day - It was a lot like living with the Stasi - if the Ministry for State Security were a middle aged couple with a fondness for cardigans and homemade jams.
The first topic of conversation for tonight - why was their 21 year old daughter dressed in her old school uniform.
"Are you feeling alright Dear" Mom asked, studying my outfit.
Nervously pulling at the tight collar of my blouse, I found myself cursing the fact that I didn't have time to change into some black, and loose fitting before dinner.
"Yes, why?" I stammered, already on the back-foot.
"Well, it's just I can't remember the last time we saw you dressed in something without holes in the knees," She said pointedly "And isn't that one of your old school shirts?"
"I was having a clear out and found it at the back of my wardrobe," I said, hurriedly taking a bite.
"That doesn't explain why you decided to put it on," Mom pointed out, her curiosity piqued.
"Maybe I was feeling nostalgic," I mumbled, after shoving yet more pizza into my mouth.
"But you used to hate wearing your uniform," She continued "you were always getting detention for forgetting your tie, or refusing to button your collar when asked"
"Maybe I had a change of heat. Besides, I thought you of all people, would approve!"
"How do you mean?"
A conservative dresser by nature, my Mother wore her twin set and pearls like a second skin
"Well, for one thing, you're always going on at me for 'dressing like an unemployed grave digger'"
"I said that!?"
"Among other things," I replied, her views on my all black wardrobe being a matter of long standing public record.
She peered over her glasses "Well, all joking aside I think you look very smart,"
"Thanks Mom" I found myself replying, unaware that I was walking into yet another trap.
"So, does this mean we can finally throw away all those tatty old band t-shirts?"
"What? No! Of course not!"
"I was just saying to your Father I need some new dusters-" She teased
"So, any news on the job front?" Dad asked, riding to my rescue.
"Alas no," I said, "But on the plus side, at least I've got some new exhibits for my wall of rejection letters"
"Well, chin up dear, I'm sure something will come up soon"
"Thanks Dad - Oh, I did have some good news to share with the group though,"
"Oh,?" Mom replied cautiously
"You remember that local am-dram club I joined last week?"
"Uh-huh!"
"Well, guess who they cast as the lead in their next play?" I said beaming with pride.
“They did?! Hannah - that’s amazing!”
“Yeah, congratulations Kid" Mom said.
"Thanks guys” I said, blushing nervously
"So, what's it about?" Mom asked, eagerly "Tell us everything!"
"It's, um, a comic farce set in a series of interconnected hotel rooms - I'm an undercover cop sent to spy on an embezzling Mayor - it's a really funny script - with lots of falling over and slamming doors - and best of all,.. I get to eat a donut on stage every night"
"Noice!" Dad said approvingly
"I can't believe it - our daughter - the actress" Mom cooed, taking out her phone "I can't wait to tell the Fam'!"
I should explain, The "Fam'" is what my Mother calls the extended family - she thinks it makes her sound young and hip.
To be clear, it does not.
"Now you've done it Han," Dad teased as he helped me clear away the dinner things.
Sure enough, within minutes my phone was lit up with messages of support from friends and (extended) family members, which I quickly ascertained were sent in response to a Facebook post from my Mother which read thusly:
"Just wanted to congratulate our wonderfully talented daughter Hannah Mackintosh for getting cast as Billie the cop in Unnecessary Farce. Break a leg Han! (not literally of course!)"
For the rest of the evening I found myself fielding enquiries from scores of people in my Mothers expansive contacts list (507 names and counting!) asking for details of the performance dates and how they could get tickets.
It was undoubtedly thrilling, if a little overwhelming - at this rate everyone my Mother had ever met would be queuing up to see me perform - not to mention get tied up!
But that was a problem for future Hannah, tonight I was happy to bask in the goodwill of my adoring fans.
I was 18 when I decided to quit school and move in with my English Professor.
As you can probably imagine, this decision somewhat failed to meet the approval of either my friends, or family, but I was young and naive, and he was a published author with a voice like silk and a fancy cappuccino maker.
Despite all expectations we lived together happily for three wonderful years, right up until the moment that I discovered that he'd been cheating on me with my best friend.
I like to think I took the news about as well as might reasonably be expected.
By which I mean, I cut off the sleeves from his fancy suits, melted all of his vinyl and carved a series of rude words into his perfectly manicured lawn.
I also stole the cappuccino maker.
Later, when I had been invited (by the police) to leave the property, my parents graciously offered to allow me to stay with them until I could get back on my feet.
It was a welcome, if rather humiliating proposition - not least because it meant sleeping on my childhood bed complete with One Direction bedspread - but at least I had a roof over my head.
So there I was, a divorcee at the grand old age of 21, sentenced to live out my remaining days a lonely bachelorette until, inevitably, I would be eaten by my own cats.
It was in this, rather sunny disposition that I first laid eyes upon the notice in the church window advertising open auditions for a local amateur dramatic group.
To this day, I'm still not sure what compelled me to take the flyer - I guess I thought it might be a fun way to meet new people, or maybe I just wanted an excuse to leave the house during the day - either way, that night after a particularly depressing series of rejection letters, I found myself calling the number listed and, after a brief chat, agreed to attend their next meeting in the old rectory.
Truth be told, I wasn’t even looking to get cast in the play, I'd have been just happy to get involved in sewing costumes or painting the scenery, but when the Director heard that I’d done some acting at school (I like to think I gave the definitive performance of Daisy - the cow from Jack and the Beanstalk) she positively insisted that I try out for the female lead.
'Curvy', 'generous' and 'buxom' are all plus sized euphemisms which have been used to describe my body-shape over the years - along with some decidedly less generous terms which need not trouble us here - so I was more than a little surprised that they would consider me for such a pivotal role (although it probably didn't harm my cause that I was the only cast member under 40). However, as a proud BBW (that's Big beautiful woman, for those of you less familiar with online dating profiles) I thought I owed it to myself to at least give it the old college try.
According to no less an authority than Spencer Tracy, the secret to giving a good performance is to know your lines and avoid bumping into any furniture - and by that metric alone my audition was a roaring success - I even managed to elicit a few laughs from the dialogue - but it was still a considerable surprise when, a week later I saw my name at the top of the call sheet.
Cue hearty congratulations and backslapping's all round from my erstwhile co-stars.
"Made it, Ma! Top of the world!" I thought to myself as I rode the bus home.
Still feeling elated from my casting I decided to pass the time by highlighting all the parts of the script where my character was speaking.
'Golly' I noted 'there sure are a lot of lines to learn'.
It soon became clear that my character seemed to lack every skill required for undercover police work (for one thing she thought it was entirely appropriate to wear her uniform to a stake-out) and after a series of hilarious mishaps she was captured by the villains and taken hostage.
'Oh my!' I exclaimed, finding myself starting to perspire with nervous excitement as I read how Billie was bound and gagged by a deranged Scottish hit-man.
I could hardly believe my eyes. Did this mean I was going to have to get tied up - on stage - in front of everyone!?
Now at this point I should probably disclose that, ever since I was a little girl, I’d been secretly fascinated by the idea of being taken prisoner and was quietly thrilled whenever I stumbled upon a cartoon, or a kids movie, that featured a damsel in distress.
Indeed, as far back as I can remember I'd privately longed to be kidnapped and made helpless like the characters in my story books, but had always been far too scared to ever tell anyone.
And now I was going to spend at least two nights (and a matinee) acting out my most secret fantasies in front of a fee paying audience. Well, it was almost too much to process.
Feeling flushed with embarrassment at the stirrings in my nether regions I hurriedly stuffed the offending document deep into my satchel and resolved to get off at the very next stop lest anyone take notice of my ever reddening face.
Finally back in the sanctuary of the family residence I rushed up the stairs to my room to study the script in greater detail.
Reading (and then re-reading) the section it quickly became clear that my character spent a significant portion of the second act hoping across the stage whilst in a state of bondage.
It was a really funny scene, with lots of doors slamming and comic pratfalls, but all I could think about was what it would actually feel like to be trussed up in front of all of my friends and family.
Then, a rather chilling thought occurred - Would anyone be able to tell that I was, quote/ unquote 'into it'?
Nervously, I decided to take the scientific approach - to whit, perform a live reenactment of the scene in the hope that it would help me conceal my state of arousal come the first rehearsal.
Giddy with excitement I rushed around the house gathering supplies, selecting an old dressing gown cord, a roll of packing tape left over from the move, and a bunch of handkerchiefs for my ropes and gags.
Next came the costume. In order to make things feel as authentic as possible I decided I wanted to dress the part as well - which meant assembling a faux police uniform from the disparate items in my wardrobe - no mean feat when you consider that I spend most of my waking hours dressed like a goth scarecrow.
Sifting through the mountain of ripped jeans and oversized tour shirts I finally discovered one of my old school shirts and a pair of smart green trousers I last wore for a job interview that I spectacularly failed to get.
Having decamped to my parents bedroom to make use of their full length dress mirror (it was a little after three in the afternoon so both were still at work) I slipped my arms into the neatly pressed sleeves and slowly buttoned up the starched white blouse (leaving the collar open) before clumsily struggling into the pair of, rather uncooperative slacks.
Relieved to finally be able to breath out again, I proceeded to tuck the shirt tails into the waistband of the trousers before perching on the edge of the bed to apply my church shoes and a pair of thick black socks.
Costume change complete - I stood and admired myself in the mirror.
Growing up I had always loathed having to wear anything with sleeves, much less a collar, but now found, to my considerable surprise and delight, that I rather liked how formal and proper it felt to be dressed this way.
But something still wasn't right - my character was really obsessive about all things related to her job, it stands to reason that she would be equally fastidious about her police uniform.
Taking a deep breath, I reached up to button the top button of my blouse.
The collar was now at least a size too small, but after a great deal of effort I was finally able to fasten it into place.
My heart was beating hard, I'd never worn a shirt like this before (even whilst at school) but somehow I knew this was just how my character would dress, besides which, I was surprised to discover that I rather liked the way that it looked on me.
Behold your new Queen of Geek Chic.
I tied my long red hair, usually worn as a mess of curls, into a tight bun and smiled to myself - the transformation was complete - now there just remained the small matter of rendering myself immobile,..
Perched on the edge of the bed I began to firmly tape my feet together, wrapping the sticky brown packing material around my thick ankles a total of four times before ripping it free from the roll.
Kicking out my legs I found myself marvelling at the sight of my bound legs.
Even though I would have been able to get free any time I chose, it still felt strangely thrilling to have, even a small part of my body restrained.
Deciding to take things one step further I shook out one of my Dad's old handkerchiefs (don't worry - it was clean!) and placed it over the lower half of my face and pulled it snugly (but not too tightly!) around my mouth.
I then watched myself in the mirror as I knotted the material behind my head and under my ponytail.
Whilst I quickly discovered that the makeshift gag wasn't terribly effective in keeping me quiet, it certainly looked the part, and with my hands clasped behind my back it was easy to lose myself in the fantasy that I was a helpless damsel in distress.
I then spent a thoroughly enjoyable few minutes mewing to myself in the mirror, trying out various facial expressions - joy, despair, hope, pleasure,..
Perhaps unsurprisingly I soon discovered how hard it was to convey emotions when half your face was covered with a triangle of thick fabric (well, duh!)
Then, almost immediately, the solution presented itself - I would tie the handkerchief in my mouth, just like they do in the movies!
With grim determination, I folded the cloth into a thick band before nervously placing it between my teeth and pulling it as tight as I dared and double knotting it behind my head.
"Mmmphh!" I heard myself yelp with excitement.
I really shouldn't really be doing this, I thought to myself, much less enjoying it.
But in order to make myself truly helpless I knew I would need to find some way of restraining my hands.
After a handful of failed attempts at performing a self-tie, I did what any self respecting member of Generation Z would do, and looked it up on the internet.
Following the instructions on the, super helpful, youtube instructional video I began by wrapping the dressing gown cord around each of my wrists, leaving the ends of the ropes free so that I could make a knot. I then cinched the cord between my wrists so they were tied into separate cuffs - a quick double bow knot later and I was thoroughly bound.
Satisfied with my afternoon's work, I slipped the gag back between my teeth and stared with fascination at my image in the glass.
It was hard to believe that this buttoned-up stranger was me.
Not only that, but was it my imagination, or did I look kinda' of cute with a gag in my mouth, my round cheeks bulging out over the starched white handkerchief,..?
Everything felt so tight and restrictive, the ropes around my hands, the tape around my ankles, even the buttoned collar of my blouse. And with my hands fastened behind my back (as per the stage directions) there wouldn't be anything I could do about it,..
And just to think, I was going to spend the next two months rehearsing being tied up like this, with no one any the wiser that I was secretly loving every second.
However, just as I was about to fully lose myself in the fantasy of being a captive police officer, I heard the unmistakable sound of the key turning in the front door.
I frantically glanced up at the clock.
"Cripes!" I thought to myself (or words to that effect) my parents were home from work already.
“Hannah, can you downstairs come and help set the table?" Mom called up from the hall.
"Mmph-Just coming!" I replied, frantically plucking the gag from between my teeth.
Flushed with panic, I hurriedly slipped free from my ropes (a far trickier manoeuvre than expected) and tore the tape from around my ankles.
After frantically stashing the items under my pillow I was halfway down the stairs before I realised that I was still wearing my father's handkerchief tied loosely around my neck.
Suddenly gripped by blind panic at the thought of my secret shame being discovered I struggled to undo the double knot before finally stuffing it into the back pocket of my trousers.
"Neither of us felt like cooking tonight so we're going to order takeout" Mom explained as I began dishing up the plates.
"Pizza?" I said hopefully, already salivating at the prospect.
"Sure, why not? Fredo's okay for everyone"
"Fredo's - yum!" I proclaimed.
"Sounds good - I'm famished" Dad agreed, adding his vote to mine.
During lockdown my parents had read an article that said that the more often families eat together, the less likely the kids are to smoke, drink, or elope with a married man twice their age, and so every night I'm forced to endure a forensic interrogation at the hands of my Mother on the events of the day - It was a lot like living with the Stasi - if the Ministry for State Security were a middle aged couple with a fondness for cardigans and homemade jams.
The first topic of conversation for tonight - why was their 21 year old daughter dressed in her old school uniform.
"Are you feeling alright Dear" Mom asked, studying my outfit.
Nervously pulling at the tight collar of my blouse, I found myself cursing the fact that I didn't have time to change into some black, and loose fitting before dinner.
"Yes, why?" I stammered, already on the back-foot.
"Well, it's just I can't remember the last time we saw you dressed in something without holes in the knees," She said pointedly "And isn't that one of your old school shirts?"
"I was having a clear out and found it at the back of my wardrobe," I said, hurriedly taking a bite.
"That doesn't explain why you decided to put it on," Mom pointed out, her curiosity piqued.
"Maybe I was feeling nostalgic," I mumbled, after shoving yet more pizza into my mouth.
"But you used to hate wearing your uniform," She continued "you were always getting detention for forgetting your tie, or refusing to button your collar when asked"
"Maybe I had a change of heat. Besides, I thought you of all people, would approve!"
"How do you mean?"
A conservative dresser by nature, my Mother wore her twin set and pearls like a second skin
"Well, for one thing, you're always going on at me for 'dressing like an unemployed grave digger'"
"I said that!?"
"Among other things," I replied, her views on my all black wardrobe being a matter of long standing public record.
She peered over her glasses "Well, all joking aside I think you look very smart,"
"Thanks Mom" I found myself replying, unaware that I was walking into yet another trap.
"So, does this mean we can finally throw away all those tatty old band t-shirts?"
"What? No! Of course not!"
"I was just saying to your Father I need some new dusters-" She teased
"So, any news on the job front?" Dad asked, riding to my rescue.
"Alas no," I said, "But on the plus side, at least I've got some new exhibits for my wall of rejection letters"
"Well, chin up dear, I'm sure something will come up soon"
"Thanks Dad - Oh, I did have some good news to share with the group though,"
"Oh,?" Mom replied cautiously
"You remember that local am-dram club I joined last week?"
"Uh-huh!"
"Well, guess who they cast as the lead in their next play?" I said beaming with pride.
“They did?! Hannah - that’s amazing!”
“Yeah, congratulations Kid" Mom said.
"Thanks guys” I said, blushing nervously
"So, what's it about?" Mom asked, eagerly "Tell us everything!"
"It's, um, a comic farce set in a series of interconnected hotel rooms - I'm an undercover cop sent to spy on an embezzling Mayor - it's a really funny script - with lots of falling over and slamming doors - and best of all,.. I get to eat a donut on stage every night"
"Noice!" Dad said approvingly
"I can't believe it - our daughter - the actress" Mom cooed, taking out her phone "I can't wait to tell the Fam'!"
I should explain, The "Fam'" is what my Mother calls the extended family - she thinks it makes her sound young and hip.
To be clear, it does not.
"Now you've done it Han," Dad teased as he helped me clear away the dinner things.
Sure enough, within minutes my phone was lit up with messages of support from friends and (extended) family members, which I quickly ascertained were sent in response to a Facebook post from my Mother which read thusly:
"Just wanted to congratulate our wonderfully talented daughter Hannah Mackintosh for getting cast as Billie the cop in Unnecessary Farce. Break a leg Han! (not literally of course!)"
For the rest of the evening I found myself fielding enquiries from scores of people in my Mothers expansive contacts list (507 names and counting!) asking for details of the performance dates and how they could get tickets.
It was undoubtedly thrilling, if a little overwhelming - at this rate everyone my Mother had ever met would be queuing up to see me perform - not to mention get tied up!
But that was a problem for future Hannah, tonight I was happy to bask in the goodwill of my adoring fans.