We never have date night. Never. Occasionally, we have date afternoon but date night? Ancient history. I think we went out on our first anniversary. That was probably the last time. Or the time we went to the hospital to have another baby. Dates are few and far between here if we are counting labor and delivery as a date night.
A few weeks ago, I almost fainted when I found out that Bernadette Peters was coming to town. Well, to a nearby town. I would be very surprised if anyone came to town. Yes, we have two drug stores right across from each other and a big Wal-Mart but that doesn’t usually attract many celebrities.
Some of you may be quietly asking yourselves, “Who is Bernadette Peters?” First of all, GET OUT! Ok you, don’t have to leave, but honestly. Bernadette Peters is a brilliant singer and actress. She was in the old, movie version of Annie (Rooster’s girlfriend Lily). She was Mama Rose in Gypsy and Annie Oakley in Annie Get Your Gun. She was in everything Sondheim ever wrote. And she sings like a beautiful angel. And she was in Fairytale Theatre’s production of Sleeping Beauty. Now you have some background.
I am a very big musical theater fan and I fancy myself a famous singer so I was terribly excited. I was also freaking out over the possibility of leaving the house after dark without any children. But that is much, much easier said than done.
Things got off to a rocky start when I got online to get my tickets and couldn’t get the Roanoke Symphony Orchestra’s website to work properly. It took about four hours to load. It was also about midnight. After watching half of my hair turn gray, I got to the part where you fill out every single piece of information about yourself including your first pet’s name and where you went to preschool. I must’ve gotten disoriented after all that because I got my zip code wrong. I have moved about 20 times. I’m not even exaggerating. My mom counted it up. So is it any wonder that I don’t know my zip code?
Not knowing your zip code can create a security situation. I was not allowed to buy tickets. I figured I’d just call the box office in the morning and everything else would go off without a hitch. I was very naïve on Thursday night. Now, I know better. Murphy’s Law is a REAL thing!
Friday arrived, chilly but beautiful. Just like Bernadette. My children started screaming at 7 am and continued screaming until sometime yesterday. It was one of those days where you can just barely restrain yourself from going to the police station, dropping your children off on the stoop, and heading for Mexico. It was not helpful. A ride in our delicious new double stroller from heaven calmed the situation just a little.
I made all children stay in the stroller while I checked my email and bank account. Surprise! The price of the tickets had been deducted not once but twice. No email full of tickets. I called the box office. They were VERY suspicious of me because I don’t know my zip code. Also, they could do nothing to help me and wouldn’t sell me tickets over the phone because I am a criminal who punched in the wrong zip code while attempting to make a transaction. Idiot.
They also couldn’t explain to me why I paid for tickets but had no tickets. I’m still working to resolve that one.
I tried the website again. Nope. Wouldn’t load. I didn’t even get a chance to type my zip code in correctly. Shut down again. Delightful box office lady said, “You should just buy tickets at the door.” Point taken lady, point taken.
Meanwhile, it came to my attention that husband was beyond tired. He went back to work last week and didn’t get enough rest. I was telling him about the ticket situation and he said something like “So what does she do?” WHAT? My own husband? I could hear the wheels turning in his head. I believe he thought BP was going to throw a pot onstage or maybe do a reading. Not only was husband too tired to go but there was a distinct possibility that he might not enjoy himself.
I called gay best friend. He couldn’t go due to work obligations. I called his partner to see if he could help me talk some sense into gay best friend. We agreed that he would try to let me know by 6:15 if he could go.
Then there was the babysitting to coordinate. My parents are happy to babysit but they like to go to bed at 9:00 pm which further complicates things. I had to get to Salem by 8 and home by 8:30 so that the grandparents could get home by 9.
Husband came home. He was very pleased to hear that there was a possibility that he wouldn’t have to go watch BP do whatever it is she does. I found something semi-dressed up and semi-clean to wear and even put on makeup! All for you, BP, all for you.
At 6:15 on the dot, best friend called. “I’m leaving work right now. I can go!” Hallelujah. Husband was even more pleased when he found out he didn’t have to go. I nursed baby one last time. My parents showed up and I flew out the door.
Arrived at T’s house. The first thing I saw when I walked in the door was a mostly naked drag queen. That is not all that unusual and actually very fitting considering. Flew to the car, drove like a maniac, and then at 7:30 hit some nice stand-still traffic on the interstate. Woohoo! Thanks to a smartphone, we went the long way around the world, did some questionable driving through some questionable neighborhoods and arrived only ten minutes late. We missed the Roanoke Symphony Orchestra’s “Music Man” medley but I was pretty irritated with them over their box office lady’s attitude so I didn’t mind so much.
BP was perfection. A revelation! It was worth all the drama and confusion that spanned the entire 24 hours pre-show. I laughed, I cried, I laughed some more. We saw some local celebrities (Daniel L. Crandall and Robin Reed). I kept T from murdering the girl in front of us who took 573 photos per song.
But it just goes to show, it takes 3 people to replace mommy. I will probably not go out again until the children have gone to college. I also learned that date night does not always have to be with daddy and whatever you do, don’t forget your zip code or you will be sorry.