A woman with a five-year plan, a husband with no spine, and three freelance consultants who deliver their findings on a moor. No, this isn’t a freaky-deaky polycule in a live-work loft in Bushwick. It’s opening night at the Met.

Lise Davidsen—she of the soprano audible from low earth orbit—as Lady Macbeth, opposite Quinn Kelsey—arguably the finest Verdi baritone currently being mentioned in this paragraph—as the man who does whatever she tells him to. Yannick in the pit. Freddie De Tommaso and Ryan Speedo Green round it out and possibly throw it back? I don’t know, I haven’t seen it yet. But it’s wild that the Met’s own copy promises “hair-raising drama and spectacular singing” and then spends two hundred more words somehow never mentioning that this is a new production by Louisa Proske or what it’s gonna give.

Now, a caveat: this is opening night, the hottest ticket of the fall, and we’ve got exactly one. Singular. So this is not a date night unless you were planning to bring nobody, which… no judgment, some of us prefer to receive our prophecies alone. And should you happen to be partnered, well. Perhaps you and your significant other have an “understanding” about who stays at home with a bottle of something and who gets hot and bothered in the dark next to a stranger. Marriages have survived worse. Ask the Macbeths.

Now we know some of you said you were ~done with the Met~ but girl, don’t you kinda want to see it all go down?

All we know is we accidentally bought an extra ticket. If one of y’all want it, screw your courage to the sticking place and enter your email in that form up there.