I am made-up. I am bejeweled. I am going to the Opera House as soon as my red bush tea is done and put in the thermos.
Hitting that road, yes, it is gray, it is chilly, it is not a night to want to go out, my hair is clean, I think I may have forgotten my deodorant which is a bad idea seeing how it gets to be about five thousand degrees (Fahrenheit) on that stage and I will say those lines (or a reasonable facsimile) one more time, one more time, one more time and then I'll be done with that, it'll be over and Lord, Lord, when I get my free beer tonight, I am going to enjoy it like nobody's business and it will be the most celebratory beer of my life.
That was a prayer. Or at least what passes for a prayer around this neck of the woods.