These fine British gentlemen are coming to my town in November:
[more girly screaming]
Pete and I are going with Melissa and her husband.
We didn't get 'panty flinging' seats because they were $227 and that's just fucking ridiculous, especially since I'm going to have to pay for a sitter for the girls.
All the same, I might go to Hellmart and get some cheap thongs, just in case I do get close enough to land one at Sting's feet. Maybe I'll get some granny panties too, since they have more heft and I can get them to fly greater distances. I'll bet he's never had great big ol' bloomers thrown at him.
Melissa thinks this is an excellent idea.
Our poor, poor husbands. They have no idea what they're in for.
[fade out, with continued teeny bopper shrieks of excitement]