I took Penelope to the circus. Ringling Brothers must have spent millions putting that spectacle together. I hadn’t been in years and years, not since I was around 10 or so and I was amazed. It was glitzier and more polished than I had remembered it. For $30 or so a ticket this blew away most of the things I had seen on Broadway for $90 a ticket, especially most of the plays whose only saving grace was a gratuitous celebrity, though in New York I didn’t have to pay $15 to park. This production had elephants and tigers and a motorcycle driving guy speeding along on a high wire that I couldn’t even watch. And beautiful girls dressed as motorcycles with handlebars protruding from the bodices of their costumes. Wow.
Penelope and I both liked the horses with the men who jumped on and off. She liked the smart dogs that ran through hoops. She liked the “funny” clowns dressed as penguins. She liked the tigers especially when they lay down because in her mind they were “tired.”
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Guess what she loved best about what must have been a million dollar spectacular?
She loved the sno-cone in the clown shaped cup.
The added value is that the cup is a 3-D clown head complete with a top, the top part, the hat and hair, opens to reveal the shirt staining ice. As a whole it looked like melting brains in a lobotomized serial killer to me. But she liked it. Actually, she loved it. The trapeze artists did not have to put in that many hours of practice to entertain my daughter. She didn’t even see them. The ice man had provided us with – a straw.
By the second half of the show she loved the seat that opened and closed and opened and closed and opened and closed. If AA Arena wanted to make extra money on the down days, they could sell tickets to 2 year olds for that privilege. They’d make a killing.