Andy strode to the microphone in the middle of my high school’s gym and began to sing. “On a tree by a river a little tom tit sang, willow, tit willow, tit willow.” He smirked as he sounded these lines from Gilbert and Sullivan’s operetta, The Mikado. I guess he was proud of himself for exploiting the talent show to repeatedly say the t-word under the guise of culture. I felt embarrassed. I also felt appalled. Andy was abusing one of my favorite pieces of music.
I listened to The Mikado play at home on a hulking hi-fi stereo in a wooden cabinet the size of a refrigerator turned on its side. My body sat on a bland beige sectional sofa, but my mind drifted away to an exotic Japan of schoolgirls, scoundrels, and heroes who fall in love, engage in deception, and scheme to get their way. There’s an elaborate plot that I might boil down to to elderly Katisha loves noble Nanki-Poo who loves young, lissome Yum-Yum who loves Nanki-Poo, but is betrothed to Koko. Apparently it was penned as a slap at British politics, but that went way over my head.
Some parts of the operetta were tough to relate to. Especially those “Three little maids from school.” I felt certain they were the popular girls. Whereas I was the quintessential last girl picked for a team in gym class.
Instead, I identified with Katisha, the elderly spinster who’s hot in pursuit of Nanki-Poo, the emperor’s son. I had to admire her gumption. I wouldn’t have dared aim so high. Katisha touched me most at her lowest point when she sang “Alone and yet alive.” I felt alone, too. So it was especially satisfying when Koko sings “Tit willow” to woo Katisha. Perhaps I’d find someone, too.