Rain Keeps Falling On My Head

I had big plans to work outside today. But it's drizzling. No thunder and lightning, no gale force winds. Just sneeze-like wet stuff that requires something water repellant to protect your head, your feet, and your body on the outside. Meanwhile, you sweat like a pig on the inside. So here's me writing barefoot in my blog. 
          My ladies' barbershop group was invited to perform at a local farmer's market yesterday. In the summer it can get dicey trying to field a quorum. We ended up with a bunch of basses, two baris, a few leads, and only ONE tenor. But, surprisingly, even that odd combination worked. We sang from ten to eleven standing between the homemade fudge sauce tent and the canned tomatoes lady. All went well, except for one unfortunate tune up, when we got the pitch wrong and sounded like rusty cans falling off a roof. Fortunately, our leader stopped the carnage. 
          One of the songs we performed was "I'm Getting Married in the Morning." For some reason I find it highly amusing that a group of sixty-something babes expects an audience to believe a highly suspect claim like that. There aren't enough sequins, Spanx, or Clairol products to hide the fact that we're getting too damn old to jump into bed with a fresh caught hubba-bubba for a night of anything but Milk of Magnesia. In fact, that goes for a number of songs we do -- from "Getting to Know You" through "Tonight" from Westside Story, which starts out "Tonight, tonight, won't be just any night. . ." What? You won't have to pee three times? But we soldier on. So far the audiences have been very kind -- and the little kids LOVE US. One grandfather with a little too much pep in his step got so caught up in "Sh-Boom" I thought he was going to grab one of us and dance away. Phewf. It must have been the bright red lipstick we're required to wear. I can see using a bright color when we're on a stage, but standing on the grass in a field, I'm not sure stage makeup is required. Fire engine red lipstick on a woman of a certain age can create the disconcerting look of a drag queen. The older a woman gets the more subtle her statement should be. Not that Lady Gaga and her cartoon faces should be considered the role model for young girls. But I digress.
          And I think I hear a sandwich calling my name, so today's session must come to an end.