I had my Saturday all planned.
House crap all day, a dinner at Poo and then? And then! And then -
Who's Bad - the World's Greatest Michael Jackson Tribute Band.
I've seen them twice. I know their moves. I even know their set list. I am...kind of creepy after rereading this line.
But I was ready.
I had an extra hop in my step as I cleaned and hammered and fixed things all over the house. I chewed my dinner to the beat of "The Way You Make Me Feel". I watched every weird YouTube version of "Man In The Mirror" that some pervert uploaded and dedicated to someone in their lives.
I had that damn crotch grab perfected.
The Lady Friend and I left Poo to head home and prep ourselves for the faKing of Pop - I sat down on the couch to watch TV for a few minutes and...
...woke up right as the show started. But the show was 25 minutes away and I still had residue of Orange Chicken stuck in my beard.
It was over. No Moonwalk. No sparkly glove. I tried to justify throwing on some clothes and speeding downtown for the last few songs (Man In The Mirror IS the encore, after all) but the answer was Black and White.
I missed it.
After all that excitement I had no one to blame but myself.