Actually, all three were never in the same place at the same time. Shortly after I posted last, I was text-bombing Brad’s cellphone because that’s what I do when I’m excited and want to sing an entire song to him while he’s at work. So I sang-texted him “The way you make me feel” because that’s my favorite MJ song. I lined up my babysitter, and I was getting dressed up in my so-cute clubbin outfit, when I entered the seventh circle of hell. (that’s the one with migraines) I hate going there. I never get to choose when I go there, which also sucks. I begin pill popping as fast as I can, but my efforts are futile. I begin to wilt in the big living room chair when Brad pulls out his most convincing arguments, none of which come even close to getting me to look up. I’m sorry, but loud bass, and skull cracking headaches are not friends. Brad says, “But maybe when you get there you’ll forget all about it!” I looked at him with a completely straight face and seriously tried to muster every ounce of wit I had left, but I couldn’t come up with anything that could point out how completely assenine that idea really was. He was serious. Did I mention that?
So we didn’t make it. I went to bed at 8:30 with pillows crammed in my ears. But the Michael Jackson Impersonator Band “Who’s Bad” – I think I called them “Beat It” or something by mistake – will be back in September. And assuming all of my mental capacities are in order, I will be making an appearance to see the fake kings of pop.
