Tonight’s penultimate performance of Elf the Musical was an unmitigated disaster from start to finish

As we were waiting onstage for the overture, one of our little elves walked up and accused me of not knowing her name—rude!—and then I had to admit that she was right. And then in our big tappy finale, not one but two—TWO!—of my tap shoes came untied.

Existential. Horror.

I just hope I can salvage what’s left of my joy and dignity in tomorrow’s matinee, or all my Elf the Musical memories will carry with them the lingering stink of shame and potential OHSA violations.

I’ve spent my evening epic-purging my clothes and shoes, and then—obvs—rainbow-organizing my First-World-obscene shoe collection ... all while rocking out to the Full Monty cast recording on repeat. As one does.

A brief docent-led tour:

Above: as top-down rainbowy as I could organize my running/athletic shoes, with rows of white and black on the bottom. All topped off with a size-large Jake the Drake Beanie Baby, which I bought as an investment in place of opening any IRAs or 401(k)s.

*taps head to show how good he is with money*

Also above: as top-town casual-to-formal as I could organize my Converse-genre sneaks, with my forlorn dress shoes on the bottom wishing in vain that I’ll someday have a reason to dress above my demimonde station. A disorganized basket of flip-flops sits to the left, along with an ugly antique ladder I’ve cleverly repurposed as a belt holder. My gym towels perch on top. Because I had no idea where else to put them.

This is my consumerist shame.

Guess who's at the dentist with a mouthful of chronic neglect and semi-annual shame!