My bolshy mate Nina had foot surgery last year. She was desperate to get out, after being housebound for weeks. Knowing she couldn’t walk and was on crutches-her foot needing elevating- I decided to gift her tickets to Les Mis on Boxing Day, when we would be amongst the first to see it in Sydney. Nothing was too good for my friend, so I got the best tickets to the Premiere theatre. Envisioning recliner chairs, and ease of mobility, we ventured out. The first hurdle was navigating her enormous foot and crutches up the narrow escalator of the shopping centre. Phew! We were then informed that the “special” cinema was down three flights of stairs, no lift at all. Bloody hell! We were laughing and she thanked me profusely for my “special gift.” I was making her earn Les Mis. She was sweating and breathless from the effort when we completed the task. Snacks in hand, we sat down, only to have the loudest American on earth squeeze in next to us. We had no recliners, and she had to prop up her crutches to keep her foot elevated. The American needed the lavatory right before it started, so she had to reposition herself yet again. He came back and again she had to move. Right when Fantine sings “I Dreamed a Dream,” the American’s food came. “Bloody hell!” she cursed as the usher made his way past. His orders of wine and other beverages then arrived, followed by dessert. It was a long three hours. Nina cried and I offered her tissues. She pondered how much food and beverage a bloke required during a movie. She psyched herself up for the ridiculous walk to the toilets. Nina is a hero of mine. She was an anchor during the horrid year of IVF cycles.
Her daughter and mine will be friends for life, much like Nina and I.