The Cool Wife

Someone called me “cool” last night. Granted, the man was a little drunk and his words came out as, “Yerr girl is cool. You shhhould keep hur aroun.” Kisa grinned at me and held up my wedded hand. “Married!!” the dunk guy yelled. “Good ferrr you!” We have matching bands – how cute is that?

We were front and center waiting for Phish to come on stage and true to form, Kisa was talking fanatic to the group of guys to our right, our age, Hamptons dressed. Comparing shows (did you go to Spac?), critiquing songs (Fee was a little less jammy, don’t you think?), reminiscing about the good ole days (I got into Red Rocks ’95, did you?). I sat saying nothing, but seeing everything – the girl with dreds and the killer koi tattoo swimming up her thigh, the carryover Deadhead carrying his wide-eyed grandson, the six punky teenagers scamming seats closer than their tickets allowed. Suddenly one of Kisa’s conversation companions leans over to me, “…and what about you?” Mr. Tipsy wants to know my level of Phish fandom. It would be a little awkward to admit I am not as frenzied about Phish as I should be, being married to a veteran fan as I am. Yet, I am not an imposter. I know the words to a handful of songs and I even have a favorite album (Farmhouse). Given all that, I still have to think about how to answer as not to offend. “I’m here for the light show.” I am joking yet confessional, but. But! But, before the man can pass judgement Kisa is quick to list all the shows he has seen without me. Huge ones like New Years’ Eve and the Reunion in Virginia. “Woah.” Tipsy is impressed. “My wife tells me to turn the sh!t off…she never lets me go anywhere” he drawls. I nod, not quite knowing how to respond. What can I say? I could never tell my partner what not to listen to or where he can’t go. I mean, honestly, how many times has he heard “Cowboy Romance” cranked on the stereo, all speakers blaring? All’s fair…

So, when the house lights went down and the tripping lights came up I cheered like the fanatical fan that I am not. When a glow stick hit me in the head I picked it up and raved for all that I wasn’t. Fanatic or not, cool I could be. And I will be the first to admit I had fun.

Categories: Confessional, life, music | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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