When Jupiter Aligns with Mars
Blair Waldorf has never once wanted to go to San Francisco and wear a flower in her hair. She doesn't care if peace ever gets its chance. She firmly believes that love is not all you need (money's pretty important too, along with food, clothing, shelter, and an extensive array of hair accessories), and she prefers the times to stay exactly as they are, thank you very much.
So sitting in the first row at the Al Hirschfeld Theater, watching her best friend snap her fingers and bop her dizzy head in time with the faux-1967 (but vrais unwashed and sweaty) hippie belting out "I Got Life" from his perch on the arm rests of their chairs, Blair can't quite stifle her sigh.
"Why didn't you bring Humphrey instead of me? This is just his brand of freak show."
"Shhh!" Serena cautions, smiling brightly up at the (too-old-for-his-part, gonna-break-her-chair-with-his-flailing, fine, okay, pretty-damn-cute, but still, ew, an actor) hippie who hasn't stopped bellowing in their ears once this entire production.
Blair will plead Stockholm syndrome if anyone asks how Serena managed to get her on stage after the curtain call. Two-and-a-half hours of peace, love, and understanding wore down the will to resist kick lines with unrepentant drama geeks and Hawaiian shirt-clad Midwestern tourists excited to "do" Manhattan.
But, as Serena twirls in a cloud of turquoise and blonde, skirts and hair flying, her arms raised to the glory of the spotlights above, Blair tries an experimental shimmy—just a little twitch of her hips and a flip of her hair. Surrounded by prancing flower children and her beaming best friend, Blair takes off her headband, tosses it to her seat below, and feels her hair fall around her shoulders.
Spotted: B and S, letting the sun shine in…