The sangria antidote

You know that annoyingly cheerful saying about how when God closes a door, he opens a window? I'm not saying this entry has anything to do with God, but it is nice how something going wrong can lead to something enjoyable.

What was wrong, on this night, was the Red Line -- the painfully slow, shuttle-bus-happy Red Line that caused my friend and I to arrive at the Boston Center for the Arts 15 minutes late for "Assassins." Normally we'd just walk in late, hiding our head in shame, but it was press night, and we had comp tickets, and the theater company sold our tickets when they didn't see us there by show time. Fair enough. But still, it was an aggravating situation. Then we turned around and noticed the Beehive patio, and a couple with a refreshing pitcher of sangria on their table.

[It was actually a plastic pitcher, but you get the idea.]

Suddenly missing the show didn't seem so bad. We sat down and ordered our own pitcher of sangria, along with a piece of ultra-rich cheesecake, and started gabbing about relationships. Before we knew it, a trickle of theater patrons was walking past us as they left the show.

We did end up going to see the musical a few days later, and it was entertaining. Lots of complicated Sondheim songs and gun shots and wacky wannabe president killers (below).

But if we hadn't missed that first show, we might never have had a night of sangria and cheesecake and girl talk, and that would have been a real shame.