When I bought the tickets in November I had one goal: to make it to the concert dressed in something other than my cozy, over-sized jeans, those last faded mementos from a maternity leave for my son who just turned three.
“I”m not wearing mom jeans to Justin Timberlake, so help me Baby Jesus,” I vowed.
Actually, I had two goals. I also wanted to wear a bra purchased from somewhere other than Target.
Lofty goals, people. I was Justin Timberlake, after all.
But somehow between November and Sunday night’s concert, life got in the way. Holidays, birthday parties, rearranged aisles at Costco (Hello? Where are the roasted almonds, south side Costco?). And it’s not like I forgot about the concert. More than once I looked lovingly at that tiny square on my Google calendar that said, “J. Timberlake concert,” on February 16. That simple entry got me through many a long, winter afternoon.
I couldn’t find the jeans I wanted to wear: the Joe’s jeans that make me feel like I have long legs, a perfect backside and L’Oreal hair. I finally fished them out of the bottom of my dirty clothes hamper, thinking maybe they’d be okay. Sure, they were dirty, but there’s dirty and then there’s too dirty to wear. Unfortunately, these were the latter– the combo yogurt-snot stain on the leg was too much.
As for the bra, let’s just say I missed in that goal as well, which wasn’t surprising since 99% of my bras failed to meet the desired criteria.
But when the opening chords were struck, I didn’t care that my undergarments cost half of what it cost to park for the concert. I didn’t care that I’d be awakened before dawn by my son who would want to nurse. Who cares? It was a night out seeing a great show.
The concert was a near-perfect show, marred only by my incessant worry that JT was dancing too close to the edge of the stage and might fall. It was perfect because I was out past 11 for the first time in ages (that trip the ER in September doesn’t count). I had the money to buy a ticket for a not-cheap show. I had the eyes and ears to appreciate the scrappy, dancey, sexy business that is JT. I had a dear friend willing to come with me and talk about the hassles of childcare during the intermission. I had (and have) a husband who’s willing to be honest that he does not want to attend but will happily hold down the fort with the kids.
Life is good. Way better than it was when 0% of my bras were from Target and all my jeans were “hot.” It’s not that I “still got it” but it’s just that I don’t really need “it” like I used to. And that’s okay with me.