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.