It was a dark and stormy night.
The rain was pounding.
The clouds were churning and the thunder was growling.
The skies were angry. Angry, I tell you.
Angry like a redhead who was at war with nature.
Why? I’ll tell you, my friend:
BECAUSE WE’VE HAD NO RAIN FOR MONTHS AND THIS OUT-OF-ITS-MIND-STUPID-ASS RAIN IS MAKING HER HAIR GUMMY AND HER BANGS ARE NOW REALLY CURLY AND BY GOD, SHE HAS A DATE TO SEE THE BEACH BOYS AND SHE AIN’T MISSING IT BUT SHE AIN’T GOING WITH GUMMY HAIR AND CURLY BANGS.
Fear not. I left the office early.
(Yes. There might be a mortgage that needs to be paid and there might be mouths that need to be fed, but again…SHE HAS A DATE TO SEE THE BEACH BOYS.)
(Priorities, my friends. Priorities.)
I got home, flew through the door and straight to the bathroom. Shower started, butt scrubbed, hair shampooed, dryed off, new face put on, new hair poofed up, fresh coat of lipgloss and all done in 57 minutes flat.
I put on my fancy duds and off we go.
My dear, sweet, accommodating husband who had been up since 4:00 that morning and put in a 10-hour workday with a gun on his hip then came home and got all scrubbed up before me was shined up, ready to go with a smile and new haircut, opening the door for me just as I come running back down the hallway screaming, “HURRY UP! WE GOTTA GO CAUSE IF THIS RAIN STARTS BACK UP MY HAIR WILL GET GUMMY AND I AIN’T RUNNING IN THE RAIN IN THESE HEELS AND OH MY GOD MY UMBRELLA DOESN’T MATCH AND THE BEACH BOYS CAN’T SEE ME LIKE THIS AND HURRY UP, HONEY!”
(Arms and legs flailing like a complete fool.)
(As if I had to actually tell you that.)
Off we go.
We get there. No rain. No gummy hair. No curly bangs. No rush.
Now, I do know The Beach Boys are a bit before my time. But I’ve said for years, my momma had me way too late.
I blame her.
After a few glasses of wine and some really swanky h’ordeurves (did I spell that right?), the stage lights up.
And, oh my God.
I see surf boards. And lots of beachy-ish stuff.
I gotta get closer to the stage. And closer. And well, just a little bit closer.
(Cause you know the first row of tables apparently isn’t close enough.)
(What if they need a background Beach Girl? How the hell are they gonna find me out there sitting at a table?? That’s what I thought, too.)
(Yep. THAT close. I know. I’m on the stage. I KNOW!)
I sang and danced and danced and danced and sang and poor Keith wished he had taken on a second 10-hour shift that day.
(Well, maybe not then, but I’m sure he did when I took my shoes off outside to walk back to the car. I couldn’t help it. My feet were threatening to vacate my property.)
(Well, and possibly when I slung my bra around. It was a good bra though so it wasn’t going on stage. No way.)
(I just lied about the bra stuff. Forgive me. But it sounded good and for a moment you know you thought, “I now have a hero without a bra.”)
Yes, The Beach Boys may be a little older. But, so am I.
And they might not move as quick as they did way back in their heyday. But, neither do I.
But the older we get, the better we get. All of us.
So, yes. What started out as a dark and stormy night…ended up one of the brightest, shiniest nights I’ve had in ages.