And he’s the most amazing man a girl could wish for. He’s attentive, caring, and sensitive. He really knows how to treat a lady.

That’s right. He’s a concert promoter.

And he makes me feel oh sooo special! Like last week when we went to the movies, and he told me that the paper stock used for the movie tickets was the same stock they used for tickets for Shania Twain and Bryan Adams. I could have listened to him talking about ink-to-cardboard profit ratios and usher ticket-tearing techniques all night. It was heavenly!

Or last Saturday night when he took me out to dinner and told me how many hot dogs they sold at the blink-182 show, and what kind of beer goes with Phish. Then he took me to his place and showed me his T-shirt collection, including the shirts Eric Clapton and Hilary Duff are selling on their current tours. I’d never seen so many T-shirts! You could have knocked me over with a feather!”

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if he really loves me. After all, I’ve been burned before by concert-industry wannabes who claim to work with David Bowie or The String Cheese Incident. Like that guy who claimed to have the entire routing for Britney Spears’ next tour in his pocket, when all he had was a stub from her last show. Yeah, I’ve had some losers, but this man is different. I know he loves me. Wanna know how I know?

Because when I left his place last night, he stamped my hand so I could get back in. Now, if only I can talk him into giving me free parking. Oh, well, one step at a time.