My teen great nephew Bo called me the other night, all excited.
“I get to be in Grease!” he said about his school musical set for February.
“Cool. Grease is the word, you know. What role do you have?”
“I’m a student.”
“Well, that figures. Do you have a name?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet. I think I'm in the chorus.”
Bingo! This was my big opportunity to start singing all the Grease songs I know. “You’re the one that I want…oooo, oooo, oooo, Honey.” Then I gave him a few butchered lines from “Beauty School Drop Out” and “Summer Nights.”
“I won’t be singing those,” he said, as if I didn’t already know.
“Oh, you’ll be doing the “Greased Lightning” song…. Go Greased Lightning, You’re burning up the quarter mile….,” I started.
“Greased Lighting, Go Greased Lightning,” he chimed in. That was his try-out song.
“You’re gonna have a blast,” I said. I then started singing lines from more Grease-y songs…“Born to Hand Jive,” “Rock 'n Roll is Here to Stay.”
“Can I talk to Jeff?” (aka: Big Bore) he finally asked, obviously through listening to my enthusiastic, out-of-key, out-of-my-mind musical revue.
“Yeah, I’ll go get him.”
I needed to start digging up my Grease wardrobe for opening night, anyway. Bo is going to so regret he ever called me with his big news when I show up in the audience wearing my baggy, rolled-up blue jeans, bobby socks, white blouse, and silk scarf tied around my pony tail. He’ll find out that I’m “Hopelessly Devoted” to this sappy musical…oooo, oooo, oooo! Honey, I can’t wait!