This is a funny story, although the person who it is about probably won't think it's funny. I can only assume she has most likely long forgotten about it. I haven't, because I remember everything... especially incidents that are blog-worthy. And, if you really come down to it, everything is blog-worthy! So, out of respect for her privacy and the potential for embarrassment, I will do my very best to be vague about locations and other details that may reveal the subject's true identity. And, of course, I have changed her name.
My son and I have been going to concerts together for years. My wife and I went to some concerts together before my son was born. A more happily married couple you will never meet, but because my wife and I don't exactly see eye-to-eye where our musical tastes are concerned, she was just as happy to have our son accompany me to concerts than have to sit thorough another band that wasn't the Grateful Dead. One evening way back in 2008, my son and I went to see a band at a fairly large concert venue in Philadelphia. The band was a pretty popular one and a local stop was sure to bring out their City of Brotherly Love faithful in droves. My son is employed at a Philadelphia radio station and has, on occasion, labeled himself a "minor local celebrity." Not to toot his own horn, but he isn't wrong. I have proudly witnessed radio listeners recognize him by either the sound of his voice or from seeing his face on the radio station's website or other social media platforms. Often, at concerts by bands that enjoy regular airplay on his station, his recognition increases. On this particular night, we had just entered the lobby of the venue, when a young woman approached us. She knew my son from a few radio station events and he politely introduced me to her. "Veronica," he said, "this is my dad."
"Really?," Veronica said and she demurely batted her eyes at me and smiled. She was older than my son, but considerably younger than I was. The three of us talked for a few minutes, until I fake-cleared my throat and mentioned that we should be making our way to our seats. My son told Veronica that we'd be going to another concert later in the week at a smaller venue in the city. She smiled broadly and told us that she had tickets to that show as well. She gave a dainty little wave and said "I hope I'll see you there." We headed off in different directions to our seats.
Later in the week, Mrs. Pincus and I went to the smaller venue along with our son for the aforementioned show. The place was pretty crowded and we claimed a tall bistro table on the open floor at which to stand. The three of us chit-chatted before the show began. Our conversation was suddenly interrupted when Veronica bounded up to our table. "Hi Josh!," she beamed and reached out and rested a hand on top of one of my hands on the table top. "So nice to see you again."
I smiled, wrestled my hand out from under her hand and gestured towards my wife. "This is my wife," I said. "Susan, this is Veronica." Mrs. P smiled and politely said, "Hello."
Veronica's eyes narrowed and her jaw fell agape. "Your wife?," she exclaimed, in a tone reserved for catching someone rifling through her purse. "You didn't tell me you were married!"
"You didn't ask.," I replied. I found her accusation to be a bit of a head-scratcher, considering I wear a wedding ring and we were introduced by my son!
Veronica frowned and stomped away into the crowd and, since I didn't see her for the remainder of the evening, was possibly avoiding me. I explained the whole scenario to Mrs. P and we shared a good laugh.
I have seen Veronica on occasion at various music-related events in the area. We would nod or otherwise cordially acknowledge each other. Veronica eventually married and moved out of the Philadelphia area. We are connected through the outreaching avenues of social media and even occasionally interact with a "thumbs up" emoji here and again.
Oh man... I hope she doesn't read this.
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