“Don’t you ‘honey’ me, William. I’ve never been so embarrassed before. I mean, to hire a babysitter, have my hair done, and for what? To find out that Van Halen was last week? At least that janitor at the sports arena had a good laugh.”

“I could have sworn the show was tonight.”

“That’s what you said last month about Kenny Loggins in Los Angeles. Remember? We drove 200 miles for that show, only to find out that we missed it by three weeks.”

“So? At least we got out for the night.”

“Then there was that concert I looked forward to all year. You know, Hilary Duff?”

“Hey! I got the date right on that?”

“Yes you did. Too bad you didn’t have the right city. Sheesh, I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Oh, lighten up, Honey. It hasn’t been that bad.”

“Hasn’t been that bad? What about that Eagles show in Denver? You missed it by a week. And that Sting concert in Omaha? We got there just as they were loading out the stage.”

“Well, at least I was close.”

“Close? Close?? Horseshoes and hand grenades, William. Then there was that Sarah McLachlan show in Portland. Remember that?”

“What about Portland? I had the right date.”

“Yeah, but the wrong state. There’s a difference between Maine and Oregon, you know. Or didn’t you learn that in school?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy tickets for all your favorites.”

“Forget it, William. Knowing you, you’ll have the wrong date for Joan Baez, the wrong venue for The Dresden Dolls or the wrong country for Metallica and Will Young. Why can’t you get anything right?”

“I try…”

“You try? Yeah, right. I just don’t understand it William. Other people see concerts all the time. Al Green, Little Richard or Tiffany, no matter which band or artist, our friends never have any problems being at the right place on the right date. I mean, what could be simpler than buying a ticket, and then going to the venue listed on the ticket on same date as what is printed on the ticket? This isn’t rocket science.”

“How about if I buy tickets for Prince?”

“Save it, William.”

Jack Johnson and Violent Femmes?”

“Never mind.”

“Then what about Tom Jones, Anthony Gomes and Joan Osborne?”

“No dice, William. We’ll either get there on the wrong date, or the wrong city, or the wrong building. You can’t do anything right. Oh, I should have listened to my mother.”

“Your mother? What’s your mother got to do with this?”

“She told me this marriage would never work. But did I listen? Heck, no!”

“Your mother told you not to marry me?”

“Well… Not you specifically. But she warned me about your kind.”

“Huh? My ‘kind?’ Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s simple, William. She told me never to marry a CIA agent.”