I never was much into the whole bar scene. Even when I was single, a time of which I have very little recollection, I never felt comfortable in a dark, noisy room full of inebriated strangers. While I have come to appreciate the benefits of a dark room, I'm still not a fan of hanging out in an environment where the primary objective is getting wasted and/or laid. So how was it that last night I ended up spending the better part of the evening at Miss Kitty's Saloon? I'll tell you. I was being a dutiful wife playing the role of groupie to my husband's rock band alter ego.
As you might imagine, Miss Kitty's is a classy joint. the kind of place Sheryl Crow must have been envisioning when she wrote All I Wanna Do. When I arrived, just before nine, the regulars were already settled into their assigned bar stools. Most seemed oblivious to the musicians crammed into a 10 x 12 corner of the narrow room. The newbies, those of us with a vested interest in the aforementioned musicians, pulled up a chair at one of the dozen tables and ordered a beer. (Okay, some of us ordered a Diet Coke since some of us haven't had a beer since college). As I watched my husband and his friends wailing away, I couldn't help but be aware of the irony. Hadn't I gotten married to avoid all of this? The music was good and it was fun to get out but when I started yawning, I had to admit some things hadn't changed. I still preferred being at home, in my jammies, reading a good book to being out on a Saturday night with a bunch of rowdy people I don't know. But as long as my better half wants to play piano man, you'll probably find me in the front row cheering him on. At least until the end of the second set.
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