Something I like about improv is that you get really gross while doing it. You can't really help it. You're moving and sweating and your hair is sliding out of your ponytail and bobby pins are flying and your eye makeup smears.
Usually actors have a charm, beauty, or delicacy about them. They're far away on a stage with costumes and make-up...but I feel like there's only so much facade you can keep up in improv. You're just...out there. Pit stains the size of Lake Michigan. And, it's even worse for your fellow actors.
Sunday I practiced barefoot because I had a giant blister from that Thanksgiving run. Shoe turned to me in a pause from an exercise, pointed down, and whispered, "Aren't you cold." I told him I had a blister, did he want to see? He thought, then shrugged. I pulled my foot up sideways and revealed the huge chunk of healing skin. He scrunched his nose and nodded, "Yeah," he said.
Oh oh oh, yeah, my heart stood still.
Yeah, his name was Bill.
And when he walked me home.
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