Mr. Wonderful and I agree that Valentine’s Day has morphed into a giant marketing gimmick. If I see one more of those “He went to JARED!” ads, I am going to … do something. Like scream and scare my one dog that still hears.
So, Mr. Wonderful and I agreed that we wouldn’t be all insane over VD. (Insane over VD. Heh.) We exchanged multiple cards. And, he sort of cheated and brought me the most gorgeous flowers. But he’s totally forgiven.
Our big treat was going to a concert.
We saw Air Supply.
Lost in love? All out of love? Here I am, the one that you love? Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.
It was at a casino. Casinos heeb me out, but the venue was nice. Lots of dudes were there under duress, sucking down Miller Lites. We were among the youngest folks in attendance. Some folks were sporting sequins for their big night out.
I was wearing a pair of Chuck Taylors, a t-shirt with teeth on it and a sweater that I bought in a thrift store my junior year of high school. Do not let it be said that I don’t dress to impress.
Didn’t matter anyway. All eyes were on Graham Russell and Russell Hitchcock. I must say: those dudes rock! Seriously. There was a slight vibe of dirty old man, but mostly, they just rock. They worked the crowd. They were great musicians. And … Russell Hitchcock, the shorter, once dark fro’ed of the two, touched my hand.
I know. I know!
By the end of the show, even the guys who had obviously been dragged there because it was Valentine’s Day were totally enjoying the show. And don’t even get me started on the long-haired dude wearing the Batman t-shirt and fringed leather jacket who stood for the entire show, waving his arms and occasionally throwing out the devil horn hand signals.
Mr. Wonderful and I agreed that it was unusual to attend a concert that closed the final encore at 9:40, but no matter. I would go see them again in a heartbeat, even if I had to ride in a hot air balloon to get there.
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