“She’s 5’6” with a splendid figure, bright blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and if she ever fell into a swamp, and met a crocodile, she’d strangle him, turn him inside out, and make a purse out of him with matching shoes.” – Ludwig, Twentieth Century

I always knew theater wasn’t exactly a manly activity, but come on, punched by a girl? Cut me some slack. It’s not easy to get hit, especially when it’s by a 5’6” blonde. But it’s even worse when it’s in front of bright lights, a paying audience, and your parents. (It didn’t help that I was wearing makeup.)

Okay, let’s set the scene (pun intended):

It was opening night, the day was in late October, the time early evening, the place a local high school auditorium, the victim (too over dramatic?) a sophomore with his first lead and a glass jaw. And boy, was I nervous. I could feel it all inside my chest: the worries about props, and lines, and blocking. But most of all, I was stressing about getting “the laughs,” as my director would emphasize every rehearsal.

He was right. It was a comedy; hearing laughter was the goal, and what’s funnier than a boy being punched by a girl? What’s more embarrassing? Scarier? Absolutely nothing. (No really, absolutely nothing.)

The punch was at the end of the show, the last scene, “The Big Finale” (director’s words again, not mine). Either way, the time had come. The moment I’d been dreading was here and it wore a sparkling, sleek, sequin black dress and the mask of a beautiful blue-eyed blonde. Her face was writhing with anger (something my director thought was just “so, so, so hilarious”), and mine was contorted into a weeping position. And as I stood there, on the verge of being hit, I remembered all the rehearsals it took to make this show, and all the times my cost-star actually hit me, instead of using the near misses we call “stage combat”. But most importantly was the work we all did; I needed to do this. I needed to take one for the team (truthfully, they prefer the term “cast”, but team seemed fitting). And I would.

The world started moving in slow motion: She started her windup, screamed a dramatic scream, and swung. I spun around, collapsed to the ground, and the lights went out, and the audience laughed. A sound I would have loved, had my head not been spinning (over-dramatic again, sorry.) She had glanced my jaw- and it hurt- but I was alive (with maybe all of 0.2% of my dignity intact. But alive, all the same).

However it wasn’t until the next day in my history teacher’s class that I really got the joke. He had seen the show the night before and wanted to congratulate me. In front of the whole class, he,  with a friendly, outstretched hand shook mine. And for first time, I laughed at the real punchline.