Hank looooooves musicals. If I could replace our How-Was-Your-Day dinner conversation with interpretive dance and tuneful singing, she'd be much happier. My fascinating tales of software off-by-one errors might lose a little in the translation, but our marriage would be all the stronger for it.

So, I wasn't surprised when she bought tickets for us to go see a production of Assassins at a small community theater. I had never heard of the show, so I quizzed her about it.

Me: What's Assassins like?
Hank: It's a musical.
Me: I know that part. What's it LIKE though?
Hank: Well, it's not Angels in America, but it's not Carousel either.

I know, I know. Me either. I have no idea why she thought that would be an informative answer. Maybe if I had asked my question via interpretive dance I would have gotten a better reply.

The show itself was pretty good, I guess. I'm really not qualified to pass judgment on it. I'm not a big fan of musicals, but I did enjoy several of the numbers, and a show about presidential assassins (Lee Harvey Oswald, Squeaky Fromme, John Wilkes Boothe, and many more) wins points for originality.

The theater itself was noteworthy though. It was tiny. It seated 65 people, give or take 1. Positively diminutive. It was, apparently, too small to afford air conditioning, so by the third or fourth presidential assassination, we were all sweating up a storm. These were tough conditions to watch a show in, so kudos to the actors for actually performing a show in that place.

Afterwards Hank asked me what I thought of the show. I gave her the reply that I've been using ever since then, to describe everything from Daisy's attitude to my dinner. It was no Carousel.