Here it is. The third excuse.
I went with my friends Leanne and Sheri to see Margaret Atwood’s play The Penelopiad on Wednesday night.
I was scared.
I knew it was a retelling of a Greek myth but I couldn’t remember anything from that Classics 100 course, except that a cyclops and a trojan horse were involved. I hadn’t read any reviews. And the play was written by Margaret Atwood. That could mean… anything. I could be in for dark and dystopian or deep and twisted.
Fortunately, the play fell within my limited intellectual range. At least, mostly. There were many great, barbed lines that I wish I could remember. There was also a great story, some unexpectedly funny dialogue, and quite a few freaky dead girls.
What more can you ask for in a play?
Also, Margaret Atwood turns 72 in a couple weeks. I am in awe.