“Marie? Is that you? How long has it been, my dear? It is so good to see you.”

“Hello, Claudette. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Are you still going to all the concerts? I remember when we were growing up in Paris, you were always sneaking out to see Aaron Tippin or Incubus. So, tell me, what shows have you seen lately?”


“Wait, don’t tell me. I’ll bet you saw Prince. You always did have a thing for royalty.”

“No, Claudette. To tell you the truth, I haven’t seen any shows recently.”

“What? No shows? Not even one?”

“Well, I did have tickets for K’s Choice, but my hairdresser threatened to tell everyone I’m not a natural blonde if I didn’t trade them for her tickets to Jump, Little Children.”

“Ooooh, I love that band. I’ll bet you had a good time.”

“Didn’t go. When I got home, my doorman wouldn’t let me into the apartment building until I agreed to swap for his Lil’ Romeo tickets.”

“I’ve heard he puts on a great show.”

“I wouldn’t know. There’s this adorable man in the apartment next to mine, and I’ve been dropping hints that I would really like to go out with him. Well, to make a long story short, he finally asked me out. You see, he had a pair of tickets for Gordon Lightfoot, but they were on the same night as Lil’ Romeo, and…”


“And that’s when his psycho ex-girlfriend showed up. She pistol-whipped him into submission, and then told me that I had a choice. I could go to the Lightfoot concert with her ex, and risk being mutilated beyond recognition, or I could go down the street and see the Red Elvises at the local nightclub.”

“Wow! Talk about undue pressure. Are you trying to tell me you had to choose between accompanying the man of your dreams to see the Canadian troubadour, or sitting alone in a nightclub watching that great band from Russia that originated Siberian Surf Rock?”

“Uh, uh.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I picked the Russians, of course. You know how I wilt under intimidation.”

“Oh, you poor dear. I’m so sorry for you. Let’s change the subject. How’s your job?”

“Not to good. I got fired.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s okay, I guess. I mean, who want’s to be an Olympic figure skating judge, anyway?”