When the going gets Scheme-y, get Scheme-ier…And if a Count takes you a for a fool, triple-fool-em and transgress sartorial norms if ya can. Watch out for the groping. There’s a whole lotta groping.


Alien Spouse, Alien In-Laws, and KickAss-Friend-Who-I-Forgot-to-Ask-For-Her-Preferred-Blog-Psuedonym-but-We’ll-Go-with -Either-Cherubino- or- She-Bear*…Well, we all ate some tasty Indian food downtown before heading to The Empire for The Scottish Opera’s touring production of Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro.

*It’s an Opera Joke. Au hau hau hau! ::Monocle falls into teacup, Author drowns trying to retrieve it::


Sadly, there was only one show to watch, the opera. Both Empire Box seats were empty. No illustrious personages to face the audience, perform their illustriousness and side-eye the whole show (illustriously) to the entertainment of all.  The Empire decor is sumptuous, gratuitous, gorgeous Louis XVI style. Pink paint and white-grey marble. Scratched red velvet and idyllic flora.


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