“You can dance. You can jive…As long as you’re home before 5.”

“You can dance. You can jive…As long as you’re home before 5.”

Sit me down in front of a movie and you might as well pry open my mouth and pour in a few hundred Ambien. My husband encouraged me to go on a girls’ night to Athens to see the musical “Mamma Mia” saying, “Well, maybe you’ll stay awake this time to find out who she ends up with.”

Not even a backdrop of white-washed Greek villas and turquoise Mediterranean vistas could keep me vertical during the movie. But this would be a live show. Certainly shame would stop me from waking to find my head nuzzling a friend’s shoulder and having to dry clean petrified spittle off her blouse.

For those not familiar with the story, Donna, our middle-age heroine finds herself broke, single with a daughter about to marry. Unbeknownst to mom, the bride-to-be invited back three possible daddy candidates to walk her down the aisle. Men she’s never met, but learned about their possible paternity after a peek through mom’s diary. PG-13 stuff today, but throw in an ABBA soundtrack and a plot from the online edition of “True Confessions” turns irresistible. Or should be to someone who grew up in the 70s. A girl who easily stayed up past midnight to see the band from Sweden’s first musical set on Saturday Night Live.

I do great in the mornings. The next day, I popped in “ABBA’s Greatest Hits” driving the children to school and danced all through drop off.  If they ever start a Breakfast on Broadway, I’m there. Why can’t I stay awake to see who still pines for Donna?

Because I’m old. I get up so early in the morning it’s the middle of the night because that’s what old people do. For pity’s sake, I’m probably not too much older than mom in the story. So why is she a long-legged, beautiful singing temptress without knowing she is a beautiful singing temptress? Maybe she isn’t that attractive? Maybe I just think she’s gorgeous because I’m in awe of any woman who can function past the children’s bath hour? Throw in one who can do in it four-inch heels and fuchsia spandex and I’m a goner.

Far away on a Greek Isle, dancing Donna sang “Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a Man after Midnight.” Here in Madison, I just hope to find a man about half past ten who will walk the dog.

If melodrama invigorates, monotony must exhaust. There needs to be musical celebrating middle-age women single or married, who work while straddling one child in college and another in elementary school. One who’s fighting hormonal changes wracking her body while hormonal changes bewitch a tweenage daughter. Throw in a daily onslaught of backtalk for dialogue. Our heroine could be clothed in black workout pants, a race shirt from the year 1994 and no makeup. She must look appropriately awful without makeup – Heidi Klums without makeup need not apply. For a musical score I’m thinking the Bee Gees. There’s “Staying Alive,” “More than a Woman” and Jive Talkin,” And how could I forget “Night Fever(s)”?

If the curtain goes up around lunchtime, I think we got a show.