Sometimes it happens. Life throws you a bone. But not just any bone, a scrumptious and juicy bone, right from the master’s table, with flakes of meat sticking to the glistening, white, fatty surface. A bone so big that you place both paws on the ends and still have sufficient space to fit your jaws around the middle. A bone that causes your tail to take on a life of its own, turning into a weapon of mass destruction for any porcelain centrepiece within close proximity. A bone so big that cats, sticks and open car windows doesn’t mean sh*t by comparison.
Those moments occur when you, as an adult, a parent or a boss, have the opportunity to abdicate responsibility and logic thinking, to forget about your social standing. (One should not be bothered with the latter in any case!) Like when you land in the Universal Studio’s theme park in Singapore on a business trip, on your own, and you get to go on all the rides twice, because you can use the SINGLES ONLY queue. And you scream like a crazed lunatic on the Transformer ride, cause no one you know is watching.
Or when you end up in Munich for a negotiation, not knowing that the Oktoberfest is on. And your company agrees to pay for the change of ticket so you can delay your return trip for two days, and the hotel you checked in is walking distance from the entrance gate to the festival. All unplanned, off course.
Or when you sit in an airport lounge and tediously work on some overrated e-mail from an irate customer, only to be interrupted and then, looking up, seeing it is Kate Beckinsale. And she asks for the wi-fi password and after giving it to her (the password that is), you end up talking for almost an hour on how she rocked the blue contact lenses in the Underworld series. (Ok, that didn’t really happen, but if it did, wouldn’t it constitute getting a really big bone?)
Or when you go on a hunting/fishing/
drinking trip with your best mates for an extended weekend, with the blessing of your wife, children and in-laws. And it works out that the Goddess of Woman’s Temperament has received all her sacrifices in the previous week, allowing all your mates to have the same blessing. And someone remembered the cigars.
Or when a group of 6 friends (who all moved above and beyond 40) have achieved success in booking golden circle tickets to a rock concert. And not just any rock concert, but the ultimate Anthem band, our Make-out band, our Party band, the soundtrack to High school and good times….BON JOVI!!
So me and the wife and two other couples are counting the hours to go and watch this band on Saturday. (Ok, maybe it’s only me who’s counting…it will be 40 hours exactly tonight @ 8.) But I am desperately scared that this is all just a wonderful dream, therefore I am pinched blue on my right arm. Being left-handed, I’m protecting my useful arm.
It was revealed that guitarist Richie Sambora would not make the Australian and South African legs of their world tour. Reasons given was sketchy but he claimed some private issues. Money…COUGH… Some assholes have taken to social sites to air their disappointment for not being able to see the guy who plays the guitar. Seriously? Get a flippen life. These people are obviously bored with their perfect existence; still in their twenties, with no kids, no mortgage, all their hair and no colleague who pisses them off, daily.
It’s a shame that your life has to be so perfect that you can afford to have no real complaints. You will still be rocking with the vocalist, moron. So go and refund your ticket, we don’t need you. This is my bone and I am generating spit and pee at the same time, controlling my excitement over Saturday.
Jokes from jealous associates has ranged from the band who will arrive on stage with oxygen support and walking aids to drinking energy drinks and faking injury to maintain standing for the full concert. Other conversations between me and the wife regarding the concert has also amplified the fact that men and women are not created on the same planet. Like when I said I can’t wait for the concert on Saturday and her reply was: “Oh really?” And she was not even sarcastic!
But the biggest surprise was when the wife asked what’s happening on Mother’s day, which is Sunday, the day when the bone will be buried and only the memories and the hangover will linger. On this day we will be returning from the city of gold where the concert venue is, a three-hour drive home.
My reply to her concerned question: ” Love, I don’t think we will be in time for lunch with the folks, so maybe we should do something during the week?”
Her reaction (with a fake pouted mouth and puppy dog eyes): “So I am not getting anything for Mother’s day?” Know this : When a woman puts on this “fake” face, it’s actually a trap. The acting, is actually not acting at all, but a ploy to ensure you get the message and do something about it.
Well, I almost flipped the car, as I was thinking: “Bon Jovi concert? WTF? That is like 6 Mother’s day gifts wrapped up in one. This is like the greatest gift EVER!”
Wisdom taught me not to say anything but my left eye did start to twitch, again….