“That’s nice, dear. How was your walk with the dog? Did Fi-Fi have a good time?”

“She sure did. And you won’t believe what happened when we walked by the new Ticketmaster.”

“You mean, Boutique Ticketmaster? That new outlet that sells only the best seats for all the big shows like Sting and Shania Twain?”

“That’s the one. They have valet parking, a doorman, and best of all, a sidewalk café where the rich and famous can sip champagne while waiting for the waiter to bring them their tickets for Barenaked Ladies and Fishbone.”

“So that’s how the other half lives. How exciting.”

“You said it. I saw Donald Trump sitting on one side of the café, buying Jordan Knight tickets for a beautiful young blonde.”

“That Donald. He always did have a thing for peroxide.”

“And Bill Gates was sitting on the other side of the café. I swear, he must have had hundreds of tickets on his table, including tickets for Unwritten Law, Jay Farrar and Seal. He was counting them, all the while saying, ‘Mine! Mine! They’re all mine!'”

“That Billy. I read in Forbes that he said he could never have enough tickets.”

“And Winona Ryder was sitting in the middle of the café, stuffing tickets for Westlife and Korn into her purse.”

“Really? But didn’t you say something happened while you were there?”

“I was getting to that. Anyway, I was walking Fi-Fi past the table where the MTV recruiter was signing up celebs for future reality shows. That’s when this guy walked out the front door of Ticketmaster and ran smack-dab into me and Fi-Fi. Honey, you’ll never guess who it was.”


“The richest man in the world!”

“Mr. Verizon? The concert venue king?”

“None other. His arms were filled with those new premium parking passes for matchbox twenty and that Jane’s Addiction / Marilyn Manson co-headline. Well, he took one look at Fi-Fi, and then he started sobbing.”

“What? Mr. Verizon was crying?”

“Like a baby. He said that Fi-Fi reminded him of the dog he had when he was growing up. Said his parents gave him a choice when he was a little boy. He could keep the dog or he could grow up to be the richest concert venue entrepreneur the world has ever seen.”

“That explains a lot. The poor baby.”

“Ain’t that the truth? Anyway, Mr. Verizon kept looking at Fi-Fi, weeping and talking about how much he missed the dog he had when he was a boy. That’s when he made me the offer.”

“Offer? What offer?”

“He said he’d give us his private skybox for the Aerosmith / KISS show this Monday night at the in Manchester, New Hampshire, if I gave him the dog.”

“Our dog? Oh, honey, you didn’t give him our Fi-Fi just so we could see one of the biggest shows of the year from an exclusive skybox, did you?

“No, of course not.”

“Whew, you really had me believing you for a moment.”

“I bargained him up to a pair of front row seats. After all, a dog like Fi-Fi is almost like one of the family.”

“Front row for Aerosmith and KISS? That’s such great deal for such an old dog.”

“I know. Just think, if she was still a puppy, I probably could have talked him into including one of those premium parking passes as well.”