"Hurry, darling. We mustn't be late for Brushes."
Every now and then, I force longtime hubby to see a show. It doesn't happen too often. I can count the number of musicals I've schlepped him to over the years: "Jersey Boys." "The Producers." "Book of Mormon." He loved all three, and that was enough to last him a lifetime. Lately, he's setting a personal record, escorting me to the theatre every Saturday night. "Honey, you don't have to go," I say. "I want to go," he says. "Aren't you sick of it?" "No way, it's funny." Music to my ears. He's been cheering me on for six years, through all the ups and downs of getting Brushes: A Comedy of Hairs on its feet. He'll be by my side again tonight, keeping me sane. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm one lucky lil Jew.
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