Playing Myself

I played myself on stage and I was borderline brilliant. It was my script and I studied it for hours, looking for the key to grasping the essence of myself. Seeing myself as one character interacting with others was a novel experience. Usually I interact with myself in front of a mirror. In socks and underwear.
I have no training as an actor. Stubbornly refusing to ask for advice, my pride at stake, I worked in solitude on my breathing, projection and timing. I sat up straight in my seat and made eye contact. I did not trample other people's lines. Did not get confused or lose my composure. Did not get an erection.
It was a receptive audience, full of friends, ready to laugh. And they did. Right from the first line. The skit built up with funny conflict until it reached its apex--one character pretending to break down in tears. There was no profanity, except for a 'bastard' reference. None of us removed any articles of clothing; a complete success.
Afterward, at a restaurant, I received congratulations from even those who'd ignored me up until then. Several women came up and conveyed their awe at all the complexity of that Joe onstage. I humbly admitted I wasn't all that complex, but I could see they weren't convinced. Frankly, my charisma quotient skyrocketed after that performance. It wouldn't surprise me if members of my theater group began referring to me as Mr. Excitement.