Sometimes being a grown-up means acting like a baby

soldout

It went like this:

Yesterday I read online that a new band I like announced its tour dates.

Tickets went on sale at noon today.

My husband/keeper of the coin is out of town. 

I took an oath never to make online purchases behind his back with community money for crazy things like concert tickets. (I have a history.)

I was nowhere near Wi-Fi this morning.

I did not make it home at noon.

My husband was busy doing grown-up things like working to pay the bills and did not make it home by noon either. We both know that concert tickets for the latest garage band is not a priority right now. (I tend to act like a toddler on too much sugar at concerts.)

I made two phone calls too many on the topic. (Again, that history thing.)

At 2 p.m., tickets are sold out.

At 2:01 p.m. I stand up and do the Herman Munster foot stomp around the house.
Some of this has to do with my Jack White fixation. My husband isn’t in a big hurry to shell out cash to place me within touching distance of Jack White. I tell him it’s about the music, but he doesn’t believe me. (There is some history to this.)

Then I sat down and remembered the NPR broadcast I heard earlier today, as I was racing home to log on to the fan site and simultaneously trying to reach my husband via cell phone. It was about delayed gratification and not giving in to every urge and whim.

Sometimes, taking the grown-up route makes me act like a baby.

Consoling my lonely

I understand about priorities: My children have more shoes, clothes and stuff than I do.

I understand about responsibilities: Everyone in this house gets more sleep than I do.

I understand about sacrifice: My gas guzzlin’ Jeep drinks better than I do these days.

Do I sound like a whining martyr? Well, good.

Priorities, responsiblities and sacrifice aside, there are some things I really hate to live without: good food, good wine and good music. Until recently, if a band I liked was making a tour stop in the D, I was all about getting tickets. I’d do what was necessary to make it happen.

The last time these guys were in town, I had second row. That’s close enough to feel the sweat dripping from Jack White’s brow.

Perhaps since I had the good fortune of being up-close for the first round, this time I’m not curled in the fetal position under my bed, rocking and moaning in despair that not only am I not going to be second row this time, I’m not going at all.

There’s no simple explanation for the why I’m not going. I’d offer some lame excuses, such as “scheduling conflicts” or “other things going on that have taken all my time and money and cannot be blown off.” But I won’t tell you what they are because then I’d be labeled worst mother ever.

Let’s just say it’s hard being a grown up sometimes, having to give up what you love so that those you love can have something special. Sometimes I feel so immature.