Hooray for blood!

I got a last minute invitation from a newly-wed friend to attend Evil Dead: The Musical with some folks.

Since I had been interested in seeing it for some time (yes, I do know me a bit about the horror), I dove for the closet and felt compelled to wear a black shirt with dark jeans.

Good thing, too.

Our tickets were front row centre... me being dead centre. My friend's sister turned to me and said cheerfully, "I'm glad you could make it! You know you're in the splatter zone, right?"

Craaaaaaaap.

Well, it turns out that not even tucking a plastic poncho (courtesy of the theatre) across your lap will save you. One of the actors leaned in close, snapped the plastic and snarled (she was playing a demon, after all), "You're gonna get bloody, bitch!"

And hoo boy, did I ever. At one point, my blood-stained friends were howling with laughter every time they looked at me, claiming, "You look like someone fired a shotgun at the side of your face." One was in tears she was laughing so hard.

And far from being horrified, we chortled while desperately try to spray and smear each other with blood. There was a fountain of water faux blood burbing onto our table, and the thick sticky stuff was dripping from our hair, faces, clothes, arms, hands...

When the show was over, we were still laughing -- and so was everyone else in the theatre who saw us. I had actually taken the liberty of wiping a ton of it from my face as it was dripping into my eyes and stinging. We washed only our hands in the bathroom and tottered outside for drinks.

Needless to say, we were hardly inconspicuous. Four blood soaked adults giggling around the streets of downtown Toronto.

And that, my friends, is good ol' fashioned bloody fun.