I just went to see George Michael. In Dallas. Overnight. Yes, it's true. One of my oldest (and I mean by age, I barely know the guy) friends called me and said "George Michael. Box Seats. You're coming". It seemed like such a great idea. What could possibly go wrong?
I bravely left on Sunday morning. I'm very scared of flying and think it is both unnatural and for the most part unnecessary. I mean, boats and horses were fine for centuries weren't they? I hate taking off, I hate the landing part, and I really hate that whole "flight" part in the middle. You know the part where you pretend that you are just at home chilling with a copy of The New York Times, instead of facing the bleak reality that you are ten million feet up in the air in a decrepit old hunk of metal with a nasty old middle age bitch barking orders at you and a foreign exchange student with schvetzing issues to your right.
Through sheer tenacity, laughing in the face of God and his evil acts designed to thwart my path to darling George, I arrive in Dallas. After 8 hours of travel. I made it! To Dallas! To see George Michael!
Already feeling like a teenager who had climbed out of her bedroom window (going out for a drink is one thing, leaving three children overnight is a whole other ballgame), it was exhilarating to know that there was no time to "freshen up" and I had to wiggle out of my jeans, and into my frock in the car! What larks!
Was it worth it? Oh my yes. George Michael was incredible. His voice was the best its ever been, he has such great charisma and stage presence, and the crowd adored him. I had no voice for 24 hours afterwards, because I wanted to be really sure that he knew that I loved him. Really sure. So I shouted it. Loud. About every 3 minutes. It was one of the best nights of my life! And I got the mug to prove it.
There is a poster in my gym that says "I'm 36 but my body is only 29". That is how I felt. "I'm 37 but with George I'll always be 16".