Surely this is a divine sign that my rock ’n’ roll dreams are coming true. The Rolling Stones are going on tour and this could be my last chance to fan-out over Keith Richards before I die (I believe that man will live forever. I know I will not). I love Keith Richards.
I also love the Carpenter, but he sometimes misses the point of what I’m trying to say – and by misses, I mean flat out ignores it. I suggested tickets to see the Rolling Stones would be the ultimate birthday present for me, with a concert shirt for a keepsake (pushing my luck is what I do). Believe it or not, my husband wasn’t moved to action. I’m so hot for him, but he’s so cold.
The next day the rock ’n’ roll gods were not to be ignored. During a long car ride, the Carpenter was driving and I was in charge of the radio (naturally). Three times I changed the channel and three times a Rolling Stones song was playing. Totally random. Or was it? This was a sign. Keith Richards was beckoning me over the airwaves.
First up, “Beast of Burden,” and some of my best car karaoke skills. The Carpenter pretended not to hear me. He heard me alright. People in passing cars heard me. I was that good. Next up, “Start Me Up.” I lip-synched like Ferris Bueller in the Von Steuben Day Parade. I pushed out big pouty lips and did my best Jagger impression with some incredible seatbelt choreography. The car was rocking. The Carpenter was embarrassed. I get it. He’s jealous that I have the moves like Jagger. If you start me up I’ll never stop. Third time was the charm. “It’s only Rock ’n’ Roll.” But I like it. I like it. Yes I do. So did my imaginary tambourine. My husband? He tolerated it because at this point, he had given up. When we got to the chorus, he couldn’t fight it anymore. He chimed in. He does not have the moves like Jagger, but I appreciate that he tried. It’s adorable, really.
You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometime, you’ll find you get what you need. I wanted those tickets. I needed a reality check. The Carpenter was only too happy to provide it, searching online ticket prices and announcing that just one ticket was the equivalent to our weekly mortgage payment. The cheap seats started at $330 each. For $659 I could stand at stage left in the pit and get Jagger sweat on me and stare at Keith, but I think my rock concert status has evolved to the stage that I’m officially too old (read: way too cool) to pay to stand in a place called “The Pit.” I wanted to yell, “Hey you, get off my cloud.” I was shattered. I would be a fool to cry, but we all need someone we can lean on.
That was my epiphany moment. I needed to come to my own emotional rescue. And so I did. I declared June 29 Rolling Stones Day in my household. All Rolling Stones, all day long, on the stereo for free. Heck, let’s spend the night together, too. Wild horses won’t drag this Honky Tonk Woman away from the kitchen party to come. Remember neighbours, if it’s too loud, you’re too old. Gimme shelter.
I’m still negotiating the Rolling Stones concert shirt, because pushing my luck is what I do.
Maybe Keith will deliver.
