“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 Queensryche was last week? At least that parking lot attendant at the club had a good laugh.”

“I could have sworn the show was tonight.”

“That’s what you said last month about Wilco in New York. Remember? We drove over 1,000 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 Sting show in Tokyo? You missed it by a week. And that Otep gig 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 Umphrey’s McGee, the wrong venue for The Dresden Dolls or the wrong country for Marilyn Manson. 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. Rick Springfield, Little Feat or Kenny Wayne Shepherd, 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 U2?”

“Save it, William.”

“Keith Urban?”

“Never mind.”

“Then what about Toby Keith, Kenny Chesney and Pat Metheny Group?”

“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.”