We have tickets tonight for Hawksley Workman, whom I adore. Mr.Q agreed to the purchase of said tickets simply to escort his pregnant wife to small venue in the corner of town and feel all chivalrous and martyred since he, for some odd reason, doesn’t really like Hawksley Workman. He claims to appreciate his talent but can’t particularly tolerate how it’s portrayed.
And, no, I didn’t know this before I married him. [But then again, that was nearly 10 years ago and certainly pre-Hawksley.]
I think it’s the swearing that turns him off. As mentioned previously, Mr.Q has some built-in cringes when it comes to what he deems to be excess profanity. This from the man who listens rap – and listened to it long, long before it was top 40. But apparently, that’s different.
And, no, Mr.Q isn’t the giant clock wearing, mama said knock you out, magic stick singin’, pimpin’ kinda guy. Think more… Office Space.
Regardless, Mr.Q has now gone to new lengths to escape attendance at tonight’s concert: he’s getting a root canal today. What began on Friday afternoon as a minor complaint has turned into a Tylenol 3 stupored, sleepless, antibiotic festival that involves only soft or liquid foods and lots of ice packs. The pharmacists at our local grocery store now recognize him on sight and still give him meds despite his rather slow reaction time when asked to confirm his address and phone number [ain’t codeine fun??!!]. This will, undoubtedly, be a very interesting afternoon and evening – quite a show, I’m sure.
Not quite Hawksley Workman, mind you, but it’ll have to do.
Don’t forget to check out The Mad Secretary – link over in the sidebar – she’s only around for a short while longer!