Mr. Big Tries to Enlighten Me
Mr. Big was a very outgoing man, and had many female friends. He liked to take them out to the movies, parks, and other fun places. Some of these female friends were always up for it, like myself, for instance. Others had problems at home that prevented them from going places with Mr. Big. Anna was one of the latter. Anna had a jealous husband. So Mr. Big came up with a really cool plan. When he and Anna wanted to go see a movie or something, then Anna would bring her husband along, and Mr. Big would bring me along. This way, it would totally look like Anna was with her husband, and Mr. Big was with me. No reason for jealousy. Perfect.
This is where a big difference between me and Anna comes in. Anna was extremely cultured, and loved opera singing. I, on the other hand, consider most opera singing a cruel and unusual punishment that should be illegal in all fifty states. Death penalty I can understand, but opera, in my opinion, is pushing things too far. Sure enough, the first place Mr. Big and Anna wanted to go was to see an opera. Sadly, I had already made plans with my kids for that day, and absolutely refused to change them, making Mr. Big very upset. He was saying something about me needing improvement in the cultural department.
Just a few weeks later, an opportunity arose for me to make it up to Anna and Mr. Big. Better yet, it was a free concert. An award-winning singer from Europe was coming to town for just one evening to present the 13-century music of a certain Mediterranean country. This is as much as I can tell you on this blog. It’s a small world, you know.
Because I am a very busy girl, I had plans on that day, too, and here’s what these plans were – a late-afternoon job interview at a place fifty miles away from our work and twenty miles away from my home. We figured that I would be able to make it to the interview and back just in time for the concert. Plus, I would already be dressed up. How convenient.
So, I got off work at three, drove fifty miles, had a very stressful interview, and drove back home. As soon as I walked in the door, Mr. Big arrived to pick me up. Hungry and tired, I got into his car, and off to the concert we went. Anna and her husband were already there. The four of us took our seats and stared expectantly at the stage.
The famous singer turned out to be a middle-aged woman with a first name exactly the same as my older son’s. I found this really unusual, as it is a pretty widespread international male name. Since I call my son I12 on this blog, I’ll just have to call her I45.
So, I45 started singing, and couldn’t stop for two hours. There was a lot of
During the breaks, Mr. Big would lean to my ear and ask questions like: “So, do you like it?” Mostly, I just stared back at him, too exhausted to talk. Mr. Big, on the other hand, seemed to be greatly enjoying the concert, and was obviously disappointed with my lack of appreciation for I45’s singing.
Finally, it was over. We thanked Anna and her husband for our wonderful concert experience, said good-bye to them, and got into Mr. Big’s car.
“So, how was it?” inquired Mr. Big.
“Terrible! Awful! I drove a hundred miles today! I haven’t eaten since lunch. I’m tired. That thing almost killed me.
“Wait, did you like it?”
“I? No, of course not!” surprised me Mr. Big. “Now let’s go buy you dinner. You earned it.”
Mr. Big never took me to cultural events again. I guess he realized that I was hopeless. I, too, realized something that day.
Thirteenth-century music can be a lethal weapon. If you ever need to use it, use it wisely. Someone may get hurt.