Sometimes being a grown-up means acting like a baby


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.