May. 16th, 2016

correctiveshoes621: (Default)
The Perfect Storm.

Night before Frankie's birthday.

Pete on phone, in full insanity-regalia, screaming at me about how, "Frankie never got me backstage passes for the Cure because they never played, 'Let's Go to Bed' (?) and that was Frankie's favorite song of theirs'-and-wtf-blah-blah-blah-what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about-and-why-does-this-make-you-so-damned-angry-at-me, until he made me cry. All he wants to do is fight and pick at me, anymore, and today was *not* the day I wanted to deal with that.

Into - whammo! My daughter showing up with a belated and lovely gift for Mother's Day, while I blubber like a crazy person in my robe in the kitchen.

Rush into the shower and off to do laundry while some Stephen King Look-A-Like made small talk to me about the weather.

Arrive home to catch the last dregs of the Dallas show - and what song do they do in the second encore?

Let's Go To Bed, of course. I know. *makes twirly motions with finger at temple*

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