The afternoon of annoying females

That's "annoying" as an adjective, not a gerund. No matter. Yesterday saw the end of the Half Moon dialogue presentations. My friend John from Jersey (the island) was first up, and did fairly well. A couple of hours in, a woman came up and starting trying to whip the crowd up. "How we all doing?" "C'mon, people! Whoo!" -- that sort of thing. I muttered to Bettina, "For God's sake, GET ON WITH IT." On Monday afternoon a man and a woman had entertained us with a crowd participation game and an improvised rap song, respectively. I suppose the woman yesterday thought she should follow suit. Only problem was, Monday's impromptu entertainers could deliver their dialogue, whereas this twit didn't know more than the first two lines. I could have recited better than that on the first day I picked up the script.
 
A few irritatingly long minutes later, the crowd was restless and disbelieving: you've been hearing the same words over and over again for a week, and you can't get to the third sentence without help? Our mood was blackening by the second. I expect many of us were wondering whether Himself would hurl this bozo out of the room accompanied by some choice cusswords.
 
I have learned that I cannot predict a single thing that man will do. He put up with Bonehead's hemming and hawing for a few more minutes, then called for a script. "Here, read it." She did so; Himself advised her to learn the dialogue. That was about it. Mind you, we all had a good topic of conversation for the afternoon break. Oh, and to add a bit of insult to it all, the twit was not only Canadian, but a West Coaster. Umm . . . we're not all like that, everybody.
 
I must say that a couple of the women I found annoying yesterday will probably make pretty good teachers, even though it would take me some time to get used to their voices and cutesy mannerisms. But that's just me, Crabby Batface, who just wants you to stand up there and say the damn words like you mean 'em.
 
Victoria update: Andy presented her dialogue and was just fine, although I could see her rolling her eyes when she fluffed the occasional word. That's not a problem, Andy -- you're going to be the kind of teacher who, as Himself would say, "could teach a dead person in a coffin box to stand up and do Head to Knee."
 
The last presenter was utterly, utterly precious and impressed with herself, since Himself had given her his sweater as a gift last week. This benefaction apparently had her convinced that she was doing us a favour, standing onstage and asking Himself for advice on nervousness. Hmm . . . I must be more tired than I realize. I don't know whether she was all that annoying, or if I just found her phony and thus didn't like her. Well, can't like everybody, I suppose.
 
Himself had told us he would give us a lecture on tattoos, which he hates, but instead we had a montage of his TV appearances in America since the mid-1970s. A lovely surprise came when I saw the clip from the Dinah Shore Show from 1976 --the Bay City Rollers were on the same day as Himself. I remember cutting school to stay home and watch that show, and catching righteous hell from my parents as a result. This was well before VCRs were a regular household thing, so if you missed a show, too bad for you. And I was not going to miss a second of the superest cutest band in the whole universe. [Note: this attitude lasted until 1977, when I saw them in concert and realized they could neither sing nor play instruments.] To top this trip down memory lane, which I enjoyed immensely, Himself sent us to bed early (1:10 am).