In London, I left at intermission. A man at the door reminded folks to take their ticket stubs so they could come back. I said, "I'm not coming back." He looked mock concerned, "Oh, is something wrong?" "No," I said. Then I turned to him: "Except the play."
This is one example of why I left, they're many more: Granny is wheeled into the kitchen in her chair. It's clear from what folks say that she never talks anymore. My first thought, having seen a few plays about the Irish troubles before, is that at some dull point, she'll sing an old Celtic song. AND SURE ENOUGH, she did!
Oy! (Or however you say that in Gaelic.)
But as my husband has long said, not everybody likes pork chops.
And my full name is Timothy Michael Donahue, as other posters mentioned their Irish bonafides.