28 September 2010

Let me entertain you

I have turned into the neighborhood's morning entertainment.

And I'm not entirely sure how long I've had an audience.

We are busy in the morning. I take the son to the bus stop early, go back home, and get the spouse and the daughter out the door, often cooking them breakfast before I shoo them away. The spouse drops the daughter off at school on his way to the office. The daughter is one of those children who requires lots of hugging before she is packed off, and she is often morose, so starting years ago, I would do weird little dances in the driveway as they pulled out to make her laugh. You know, the Rose Queen parade wave, a little can-can while "Orpheus in the Underworld" ran through my head, or what we called "Covenant Dance" (it's a long story but has to do with video game Halo). Or I'd just make squirrel faces at her. Nothing especially untoward, and no one is around at that time of the morning, so I always felt like I could be as silly as I wanted and it wasn't as though anyone would be the wiser.

Because I have a significant reservoir of silly.

And it sent the daughter off to school happy, so it was all a win. Right?

About three months ago, new neighbors moved in across the street, and they have two very little girls. They also have one very large picture window that faces our driveway. And yesterday, as I was waving the car off, I caught sight of two little faces pressed up against that same picture window.


(Even funnier, I suppose, was that their housecleaner was there later in the day, and I caught sight of her washing the smudge marks off the picture window.)

So this morning, as the car pulled out of the driveway, I looked over and there they were again, faces pushed to the window.

Oh, it was an Offenbach kind of morning!

But now that I've been discovered, I'm a little torn. Continue my morning lunatic behaviour or close down the circus?

Go listen to some music: "Let Me Entertain You" from the musical Gypsy, music by Jule Styne, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, and book by Arthur Laurents. And while I don't strip on the driveway, I now officially feel a bit exposed.

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