Meg had earned her spot at this recital by playing for a judge a few weeks ago and receiving a favorable rating. Every other student in the room today had earned a similar honor, some by playing the piano and others by performing a vocal selection.
As the recital began one student after another rose and made their way to the piano in the front of the room. Soon a student in a pew just in front of us heard his name and rose from his seat on the right aisle and proceeded to squirm his way across the full row of people to his left until he finally reached the left aisle. Nerves had a large part in his perception of the logistics of his situation I'm sure and it occurred to me that my own Meg, also seated on the right aisle of our pew might need some direction regarding her path to the piano when her name was called.
I leaned close to her ear and said, "I'm assuming that you know to exit this pew that way," motioning with my head toward the right. At that moment, both of us got awfully tickled...awfully. It was the kind of overcoming laughter that happens in just that setting, shoulders shaking, tears sliding down our cheeks, squeaking attempts to stifle the hilarity. The tears flowed so freely that before long Meg and I were both mopping them with my "don't-I-look-fancy" scarf.
Just as one of us would get our laughter under control, the shoulders of the other would begin to shake ever so slightly and then both of us would drown anew under the fits of silent laughter, dabbing our eyes and casting looks toward the questioning glances being tossed at us from the rest of our curious party who couldn't for the life of them figure out what was so funny.
Finally, finally the waves of snickering and snorting passed and just as we were taking deep calming breaths the recitals emcee announced the name of the next young singer who, she said "will be singing Do-Re-Me from the Sound of Music ... and it seems," she said, "that she has the hiccups."
I fear we shall never be invited back.