38 years ago tonight, Broadway theater audiences first attended the tale of a vindictive, murderous barber, learned the word "lavabo," realized that nothing rhymes with "locksmith," split both literal and figurative hairs between flaxen and blonde, discovered that coriander makes the gravy grander, agreed that poppin' pussies into pies is perhaps the very definition of enterprise, and didn't feel one bit sorry for that crazy hag Lucy because it was Mrs. Lovett who had made his arm complete again after all those years.
Speaking of, here she is backstage with Christopher Reeve for no other reason than just because. And I think this picture is now and forever my spirit animal.
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