I have this new friend that I met at work. Her husband is a drummer in a band as his second job. For weeks she's been encouraging me (and others) to go see the band play at a bar last weekend. A real bar. Honestly, I didn't even tell my husband about it until the last minute because really, what the hell are we going to do at a real bar? It made my 36.5 year-old heart all anxious and hand-flappy.
Turns out that when I casually threw out, "Oh Jenny wants us to go see the band.. .it's a country band (he doesn't like country music) and it's in the Stockyards. The bar is named Filthy McNasty's. Doesn't seem like our kind of thing. . .," he responded, "that sounds like fun!"
So we went. Jenny assured me that I really did know what to do. . . I wasn't sure. I mean, I stood, puzzled, at my closet for at least 5 minutes. We went. It was fun. I forget how LOUD and smoky bars are. The smell of my hair awoke me in the wee hours of the morning. The people watching! Oh, the people watching! I