It is evident that I should suffer the consequences of the Eric Clapton concert in Memphis, the one in which the guy had given me one more chance to not fall asleep. We were on a double date with his roommate and that guy's lady and I didn't really know the people but I knew that they knew about me because I was introduced as you know, the girl that goes to sleep. This concert was my last chance, he explained to both them and me.
I don't remember what number chance it was, but I do know it was the last, and I do remember holding a flag for single momdom when work was two jobs, 7 days, 64 hours plus if they'd allow it. It was my baby's nana who I was really dating.
And as hard as I tried and I did try but Eric on acoustic singing blues is Eric singing me to sleep until the wind caused by that guy jumping and then taking those steps as if he was leaving me in the middle of a city. I looked at his roommate's date who looked at me as if they were in a two-seater before I started chasing that guy up and out and I don't know what he paid for him and me to see very little Eric perform on the acoustics, but we didn't and he didn't hit me. He did end up driving me home and never, ever calling me again.
The fairy tale ending came twenty-something years later when you and me didn't even need to leave our comfy seats.
Tonight I am grateful to learn that chicory is a root in the dandelion family, to know a dog who had a hard week and that guy with the ukulele.
1 comment:
I would have just woke you up when it was over, and given you another 10 chances. That's just the way I roll.
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