Monday evening marked a momentous occasion in our house – we went out for a child free night of entertainment.
Tickets had been bought many months in advance to see the Pixies and although I was initially reluctant, I eventually warmed to the idea. Prior to having children, O and I went to performances of all kind, but breast-fed babies who don’t like bottles make this difficult. There is always a sense of urgency in getting home in case there is not enough expressed milk on hand or if they would not take it and are screaming down the house, but for some reason I was able to relax this time and rarely thought of the children all night.
The aging crowd provided the perfect opportunity to get up (pretty) close to the stage and experience a band as they are supposed to be enjoyed. (Nine out of the past ten concerts I have been to I’ve been pregnant, so we sat down or stood somewhere that I could lean on something.) Besides the young man standing in front of me who randomly flicked his dreadlocks in my face, and the drunken fool who was facing the wrong way yelling into his mobile phone, the crowd was very well behaved. We all swayed and bopped in unison to the songs with a nostalgic look in our eyes as we thought back to when we first enjoyed Doolittle some fifteen to twenty years ago.
A band like this brings such an eclectic crowd which is quite refreshing. There were goths and geeks, hippies and the odd hoodlum. There were grandparents and teenagers. All there for one great band.
I enjoyed the band and the time spent with O that I rarely do these days. In the dark you could almost mistake us for a couple of teenagers (unless you could see our bright yellow earplugs). It brought back memories of all the bands we’ve seen together over the years and reminded me what a lucky lady I am. O is my protector and guide. We must do it again soon.