There's a big difference between going to a concert when one is a teenager and when one is a wife-with-two-children.
When I was 14, I saw Duran Duran in concert. My ticket was about $17 + a service fee of about $2. I think I spent another $15 on a t-shirt.
Last night I saw the Police in concert. Our tickets totaled more than our weekly grocery budget, plus our baby sitter moved up to a new tax bracket after we paid her.
Back then, I went with my girlfriends and one of our mothers drove us.
Last night, my date was my husband, but before we could leave I had to go pick up the babysitter.
Back then, I spent a lot of time agonizing over my outfit and wondering if it was cute enough.
Last night, I made sure that my shoes were super comfortable and that my jeans were loose enough to allow me to carry stuff in my pockets.
Back then, I wore lavender eye shadow because it made my eyes look greener. (Hey, it was the '80s, so cut me some slack.)
Last night, I wore my glasses so that I could see which moving blur was Sting.
But some things don't change and that is my appreciation for fine British musicians.
So how was last night's concert? In a word, excellent.
In more words, oh my god it was the most amazing thing ever Sting just fucking rocks and is just as hot as ever so I don't care if he doesn't wear deodorant just as long as he keeps going on tour so that I can pay lots of money to see him perform.
So yeah, it was great.
But let me back up a bit and give you a more complete picture of the evening.
First off, we went with our friends Rich and Melissa, who is the other half of the Dynamic Duo of Shoe Shopping. We ended up tailgating with some other folks and having a great time. Beer makes standing in 40 degree weather worth it, at least to some people. For me, chocolate is a good reason to stand in any weather.
We went inside a bit late and had missed part of the opening act, which was Fiction Plane, aka "Sting's Son's Band." Oh no, I'm sure nepotism had nothing to do with that booking. Here's my assessment of Fiction Plane: loud. Loud and enthusiastic. Oh, and Sting's son, aka Joe Sumner, likes to do the big "bassist jumping off the speakers" move, which I predicted as soon as I laid eyes on him.
So, then there was a short break and then the Police came on stage and started with "Message in a Bottle."
The very first thing Melissa and I noticed -- and believe me, you would have too -- was that Sting's pants were well, um, rather snug. All over. Like, as tight as leggings. Like, possibly cutting off his circulation in vital areas. Like, no tantric sex for Trudy tonight. But damn could the man move in them tight pants. So, no complaints from me.
So there was lots of screaming and hooting and hollering and redneck yells that have rubbed my throat raw. There wasn't as much dancing as I had planned because we were in the Lower Nosebleed seats and I was feeling a bit vertiginous, so I kept my butt safely planted in the seat.
Jennifer, I did some rock horns just for you!
Mrs. G., I wasn't able to give Sting a big wet kiss from you, but I thought it, so does that count? Maybe he can be one of your secret boyfriends.
The women sitting in front of us were not so inclined to stay seated, which they should have, as their dancing was the source of much amusement and mirth for us and some of the people behind us. One women danced as though she was having a seizure, which is really the only way I can describe it. The other one appeared to have rigor mortis, as her joints just didn't really bend much at all. She just sort of, I don't know, swayed.
The music itself was amazing. All the best stuff. There wasn't a song I didn't know. And the guys played extended versions of most of them. There were guitar solos and outstanding percussion. And then there was an encore of three songs. And then another encore with just one song. So, about two hours of non-stop music.
And then it was over and the lights came on and we left.
My ears are still ringing.