in the middle of the most dramatic scene of the show, your grandmother's phone goes off / consider putting her in time out...or putting arsenic in her elderberry wine.
A Thespian Peacock post.
You can't remember the date of a single battle from history, but you can still do all of Act Two of a play you were in at fourteen, with the accents and the cough in scene three. Your mum suggests you take your homework to rehearsal. You laugh. She wasn't joking. Neither, in the end, were your grades. Off work with a temperature of 39. Far too ill for emails. Not too ill for the dress rehearsal at seven, where you are a tree with three lines. Your date mentions "that Scottish play" in passing. You flinch, then remember you're in a pizza restaurant. You touch the table anyway, just in case. **Why it caught on:** a peacock in full plumage on burgundy and gold became the advice animal for theatre kids, a loud, dressed up tribe with its own rules that recognised itself at once and laughed, loudly, in harmony.