What age should we stop dancing in public???
Last night was an absolute blast. Normally I don’t like wrap parties, I feel as though I don’t belong. Not my show, not my work, not my people. I just feel as though the wife of the lead should keep some distance from the “crew family” at the end of the season celebration, let them have access to their quarterback in a fun environment without me standing over their shoulders. Which is why I usually do not attend the wrap party. In the past I would go, then take a couple of years off, giving the privilege to “party” with the grown ups to one of our girls. They always loved being with their dad, witnessing the fun climax to another year of every single person of the Murdoch crew’s hard work. Me, I always preferred the option of pj’s, popcorn, and the pups watching TV in bed. Also I’m actually quite shy, and attending things that are all about Yannick with his peeps, sometimes leaves me standing in the corner a little bit, looking like an out of place stalker. Never mind the inevitable photo ops with women a few drinks in themselves and a little bit “grabby” shall we say, not a fan of witnessing that at all.
But this year was different for a number of reasons, which resulted in me breaking with my tradition and attending:
- it is not every single day that any series gets to shoot 150 one hour episodes! With the two Christmas movies it equals 154 HOURS of MM. Impressive for an American series, but a Canadian one? Virtually unheard of.
- another thing that happens so rarely in our business: a show reaching ten seasons. TEN YEARS. Most modern marriages don’t last that long. To put that in perspective, Yannick was in his 30’s when the series began and Jonny in his final year of his 20’s. That’s a lot of life that has happened.
- my best friend, who over thirty three years of being friends has never been to a wrap party. This year she had the perfect opportunity to attend; her hubby was hired as the on-set medic now that he’s a retired paramedic. So she was super stoked to attend last evening’s extravaganza. I didn’t want to let her down, burst her bubble or leave her high and dry and all alone at the wrap party, either. Plus Brianna and Craig were attending so I knew it would be a total blast having our own little crew to celebrate with at the party.
- besides, it is still my year of YES, so…
In order to take the “edge off” of attending these sorts of events with large groups of people, I insist on starting the evening with a lovely dinner, which we did. We had an amazing meal, had some celebratory drinks and “cheersing” all around the table. By the time we arrived at the venue, we were all ready having a great night together. As we approached the club where the party was being held we could hear Michael Jackson playing, and I can’t speak for everybody, but I got in the dancing mood right quick. The only concern I had was the fact that I was in a pair of boots with a SIX INCH heel. Not exactly ideal dancing footwear…but I would not be deterred. I was dancing, even if it cost me an ankle, or two.
So I ran into the room and got my groove on in the middle of the dance floor. Then the next song came, even better than the last, and this went on and on. Mick, Yannick’s driver/friend/professional DJ/drummer had our numbers. Even the owner of Shaftesbury, Christina Jennings, was shaking it out there on the floor. And then something happened. I began to perspire, but not the sort of hey I’m pseudo working out sort of sweat. Nah, that would have been okay, I like sweating. As an ex-professional dancer I take pride in knowing my body works the way it should, and sweating is a telltale sign that all is good internally. No, I started to have the mother of all hot flashes. Friends. I mean I was SWEATING. I had heat radiating from places on my body that I didn’t even know could get hot. Like my finger nails, and INSIDE my ears. I was sure I looked like a giant tomato.
I had to go. I had to leave. I had to cool down before anybody else noticed. I fled up a flight of stairs to the great outdoors with a group of smokers, most of them women. I threw myself out of the building as if I were ON FIRE. I must have come out of the building hot, and I mean speed wise, not temperature, since it’s already been established that I WAS EXTREMELY HOT, because the chicks out there were ready to have the conversation. It took a good fifteen minutes to bring my core body temperature down enough so I could enter the building and beg my husband to PLEASE PLEASE take me home…NOW. Which after a whole bunch of negotiations, he was a few solid tequilas in not wanting to leave the party, the winning offer I put on the table was that we would play Toto at home. Why this was the winning argument is because a) one of YB’s fave bands, and b) Mick had just thrown them on as we were making our way out the door. That promise sealed the deal, and now thanks to him being filled with Tequila, and me on three vodka martinis, we now have the infamous, and embarrassing (if you quiz our kids) AFRICA videos.
All this brings me to the question of the day…at what age is the right age for women to stop shaking their groove thing, fully clothed in public in order to avoid actual physical meltdowns???
Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm…