So yesterday, after I updated my blog with SERIOUSLY the most fabulous thing I have ever seen, I was thinking “You know, I haven’t seen/listened to/ thought about Les Mis in a long time. I should listen to it. Right now.”
Here’s what you might not know about me and Les Mis. I’ve seen it a BUNCH of times. Every time, I get through the whole thing perfectly fine until the Epilogue. And then? There is crying.
EVERY TIME.
And it’s not, like, heroically restrained crying either. It’s the ugly cry. The one that involves – dare I say it – Snot.
And grossness.
And hiccuppy sobbing.
For real, people. NEVER go to see this show with me. It’s humiliating.
But the soundtrack probably doesn’t have that kind of … er, response, right?
Riiiiight.
So there I am, listening to it. And working. In my office. Lalalala listening with half an ear as I work through the afternoon.
When all of a sudden, I hear it: “On this paaaage, I write my last confessionnnn”
And my ears got hot.
My eyes started to well.
“Are you KIDDING me?” I asked myself, incredulously. “I haven’t even been paying attention! THERE IS NO EMOTIONAL INVOLVEMENT HERE!”
“We don’t CARE!” wept the parts of my brain that apparently can’t stand the death of Jean Valjean. “THIS IS THE SADDEST SONG WE’VE EVER HEARD WE MUST CRY! AND NOT JUST A LITTLE!”
Which is how I came to be sobbing at my computer desk in the middle of a Thursday afternoon. And is also how I came to the conclusion that, yes, I am a complete lunatic.
So there you are.
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