Mr.Q and I were supposed to attend a concert last night, but this damned achy illness – now oh-so professionally diagnosed as the flu by Mr.Q based on the news reports of yesterday – kept me home.
I wanted tea. I wanted the couch. I was in bed before the opening act had left the stage.
Mr.Q however, still went. Because he is in loooooove with Chantal Kreviazuk. [Regardless of the fact that her husband was the opening act.] He, instead, went with his co-worker who was to have been our babysitter.
All well and good enough, until he decides to have a shower before heading out and comes downstairs in a near trendy outfit that I have only seen him wear once before. Oh yeah, and that once? I had to practically shove his hairy ass into the clothing myself.
So, there he was, all clean and sparkly and dressed up and to go out with a [female] co-worker to bask in the glow of Chantal while I sat at home in pj pants and a pilled t-shirt slugging back tea amidst my phlegmy throat clearing. I couldn’t’ve carried a tune through my shredded vocal chords nor played the piano with my bleary vision and inarticulate fingers at that moment if my life depended on it. Never mind attend a concert to watch someone else do it brilliantly.
But, I’m not worried that he ran away to Chantal for the evening …. I’m too tired to be worried.
Besides, he had really bad seats way far away from the stage.