The cheap seats

Last night, Wes and I went to see Madame Butterfly at the Chicago Lyric Opera (the tickets were Wes's Christmas present). I wore a long red gown, and Wes presented me with beautiful jewels that he'd borrowed for the occasion. Then we boarded his private jet to head to opening night. No, no, wait -- that was Julia Roberts.

Actually, we took a cab (instead of the El, since it was snowing and I was in a dress and heels) to dinner at Japonais, a Japanese-fusion type restaurant along the Chicago River. After a tasty but somewhat pricey dinner of filet mignon and grilled hamachi, Wes proposed dessert at somewhere less upscale: McDonalds. I had a hot fudge sundae (with nuts), and he had an Oreo McFlurry -- and a hamburger ("Well, since we're here...," he said).

Immediately thereafter we crossed the street to see the show, where we climbed at least four flights of stairs to our seats. Now I love my husband, and he likes a lot of things most men wouldn't ever even try, but I wasn't about to spend a fortune on opera tickets if neither of us even knew if we'd like it. And so we got the cheap seats. I mean, we were way up there. Talk about nosebleed -- you could've gotten altitude sickness from these seats. Granted, we could see and hear everything, so they're weren't all that bad. And we worked off some of the dessert calories climbing stairs.

As it turns out, Wes and I both very much enjoyed the opera. I'd been to one or two when I was studying abroad in Germany, and I wasn't a huge fan. But this I actually enjoyed. Perhaps it was because I knew the story, perhaps it was the fact that they provided subtitles to the Italian singing, perhaps it was a sugar high, but I really did enjoy it. I don't know that we'll ever be series subscribers to an opera, but it's one more thing we can cross off our list that we did in Chicago. After all, in Nashville, it's the Opry, not the opera.