So last night, as a belated birthday treat*, I saw Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf at Steppenwolf. For the benefit of my non-theatre buddies – if you’ve never had the pleasure of a Steppenwolf show, and you find yourself in Chicago – I can’t tell you how much it’s worth it to take the plunge. (Also, they release twenty tickets for $20 apiece to that day’s show as soon as the box office opens – just a little insider tip from me to you.)
And this show, of course – with Tracy Letts and Amy Morton^ – was pitch perfect and unexpected, quieter and more uneasy for it, sneaking under your skin with its calm and then twisting the knife.
Okay, okay, I’ll stop, I might be drooling.
In any case, it’s a three-hour extravaganza (that earned every minute), but it also practically requires a drink at the bar**, post, and with all that, plus the gloomy grayness of Chicago today? A comfy, cozy outfit was in order.
Here’s what I’m sporting, day five:
These tights will be the death of me – I got them in my Christmas stocking a few years back, found their gray-slate-blue-hue a perfect and unexpected wardrobe piece, and haven’t been able to find anything else in their color since – and they’re on their last legs . . . (there’s a Carrie-Bradshaw-esque pun in there somewhere . . . )
And yes, I wear my snowboots at work. It’s cooooooold in my office. (and they match my sweater much better than they’re showing up here . . . )
Things permitting, I’ll be back later on today with a little editorializing . . . (oh, I know, how exciting) . . . happy Wednesday, y’all.
^Who, plain and simple, rock. (And are fantastically supported by Madison Dirks and Carrie Coon.)
**But just one. The server comes around to ask if you want another, and suddenly all you can think of is Martha sitting on the couch shaking the ice cubes in her 11th vodka-on-the-rocks and saying “clink-clink-clink” . . . . and you hastily ask for the check.