So I'm in the Scera production of Seussical in Orem (Go see it! Runs through the 13th!). And I'm the Grinch. My costume comprises a red vest, red Superman boots, a green feauxhawk wig, and a tinselly green onesie. There is one other element of the costume that most will never have occasion to see.
After the first dress rehearsal, the costume lady clutched my arm and discreetly asked me if I had any "support," because I was going to need it. A few minutes later, my friend Shelley pulled me aside to tell me that the choreographer had asked her to talk to me about needing some "support" down there. Then the lighting guy slipped me a little note saying I might consider some "support." So, I got the picture. I guess the scene where all the Whos and I make a Christmas toast and then I do a special little Christmas jig was a little disconcerting. Thanks everyone, for the message! I went straight to Walmart and purchased a jock strap/cup contraption.
It took a while to figure out how to get the cup into the jock strap (I'm making assumptions about the distinctions between those two things, so sorry all you athletes if I'm getting the "support" terminology all wrong). Turns out the athletic support apparatus is super uncomfortable and is trying to perform a pre-conception abortion. I hated it. A few nights into the show, I experimented and found that leaving the cup out still afforded me enough support to not have to worry about the floppage factor. Or maybe we just have the emperor's new clothes factor here, and nobody's telling me. At any rate, I got used to having no cup on, and it just sat in a bag on a shelf during the shows.
Until that fateful day that I forgot the jock strap part. What to do!? This is a kids show! But then the Grinch had an idea, an awful idea. The Grinch had a wonderful, awful idea! I got some gaffers tape, and fashioned a sort of tape harness to hold the cup to the outside of my normal underwear. Problem solved!
This new arrangement was far more uncomfortable than before, but I was thinking of the children. Not my own, future children, obviously, but the ones in the front row of the audience. But there was an unforeseen benefit. You see, there is a "special needs" boy in our cast whom we'll call "John." For some reason someone had given him a large wooden stick, which he was thrashing about like a bō staff. And as soon as I walked into the room, he inadvertently hit me very hard in the crotchular area. I doubled over in reflexive pain, but then straightened up, realizing that my progeny were spared. It was the Holy Spirit that made me forget my jock strap that night, asserts one of my roommates. We're calling it "The Miracle of the Athletic Support and the Retard with the Stick." I have an e-mail in to the Vatican.
Moments later, I was approached by a Who named Devi who is a kind and shy married woman. She touched my arm, leaned in, and whispered, almost conspiratorially, "I have a question for you about the whole 'cup' situation." Her husband was standing within sight behind her.
My eyebrows went up. "Okaaaay...."
She leaned in closer. "Do you want me to bring out an extra cup for you, or do you just want to steal the Mayor's during the toast?"
Oh. Props. Right.
Well, hope you all have a wonderful day.