If you read my last post, you know that my husband spent Valentine's Day morning ducking flying objects. (Oops! It just slipped from my hand, Officer!)
To make that up to him, I had a really great Valentine's Day planned. After work, I took him to one of his favorite Thai restaurants for dinner. Then, I surprised him by taking him to see Peter Frampton in concert.
Now, let me be clear about something. I know that you're probably all thinking, "Big whoop, Sally. You got to go out to dinner and watch the concert, too! Why is that a gift for HIM?"
I'll tell you why, you cynics.
Peter Frampton is old. When his most famous album was popular, my husband was a teenager...AND I WAS SEVEN.
So you see, sitting through OVER THREE HOURS of Peter Frampton--singing songs that I didn't know--(Oh, alright...I knew exactly three) was a tad bit torturous for me. But, I did it for love.
And I did it with grace (I spent the night on Facebook), style (I looked cuter than the toothless guy to our right), and class (I didn't reek of mary-ju-wanna, like the dudes to my left).
At one point during the concert, I will confess that, according to my husband, I may have lost my shit.
Here's what happened....
After two-and-a-half hours, I thought the show had finally ended---mainly because the band said GOOD NIGHT, took their bows, put their instruments down, and walked off the stage. But, then, my husband was all, "Stay in your seat! They're not putting the theater lights on! THAT MEANS IT'S ENCORE TIME! WHOO HOO!"
Then, the dudes came back out and played some more.
After two hours and fifty minutes, I thought the show was FINALLY over AGAIN. You know...because the band said GOOD NIGHT, took their bows, put their instruments down, and walked off the stage. But, then, my husband said, "Stay in your seat! They're not putting the theater lights on! THAT MEANS, PETER'S DOING ANOTHER ENCORE! WHOO HOO!"
Then, the band came back out and played some more.
After THREE HOURS AND TEN MINUTES, I thought the show was FINALLY over. YOU KNOW....because the flippin band said GOOD NIGHT, took their gah-damn bows, put their friggin instruments down, and walked off the effin stage.
BUT THEN, my husband said, "OH MY GOD, SAL! THIS IS SO AWESOME! They're not putting the theater lights on!!! That means ANOTHER ENCORE!!!! Can you believe how amazing this is?!!! We're soooo lucky!"
Lucky, my ass. I had had enough.
I was tired. I had to get up early the next day. It was almost midnight. And I needed to use to the toilet.
And that's when I allegedly flipped out (The urine I was holding in, for fear of getting crabs from a public restroom, backed up into my guts--causing me to blackout) and yelled, "OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ENOUGH ALREADY! GET YOUR ASS ON THE F*CKING BUS, PETER FRAMPTON!"
My husband said we were lucky.
In retrospect, I guess I have to agree.
He was lucky that Peter Frampton put on a show that enthralled him.
I was lucky that the hippies around me were too loaded to kick my ass.