Rehearsal in a dress?

I've done that before! Well, skirt, but whatever. No, today will be the rehearsal in a suit, which is to say, the dress rehearsal. Delightful. Not really. An hour and a half of clearing furniture out of the house, change at six o'clock, start at eight o'clock and if nothing screws up too egregiously, finish before ten. If, I said, because, let's face it, things'll screw up. Stupid play.

Well, maybe it won't be so bad; these past few 'hearsals have been above-average, I guess. I'm just feeling a little bit of the burn-out. After a month or so, you tend to forget just what's so funny about British accents. Stupid pre-play loathing. It'll be better when an audience is in front of me, doing the laughing thing. You know, to remind me why carrying a Frenchman is a joy and not a chore. Until then... frelling play. Frelling Frenchmen. Frelling frell.

Wait, what does 'frelling' mean?