Tonight at Pilates Inge de Bruin said to me, "We need to have a serious discussion about Saturday night." Turns out it was about what we're wearing to the Pink concert. It was all very high school.
Am I a bit embarrassed about going to a Pink concert? Just a little.
So I told Inge that I was wearing duds and a top and shoes - standard concert issue, really. I think she was a little disappointed as she had big plans involving a dress and dramatic-looking boots. I didn't think it mattered, but Inge gave me a "grow up" sort of look and said, "Come on, we have to match. I want everyone to think we're a couple!"
This brought forth an involuntary bray of laughter which pretty much matched the one that had issued forth from Inge the night before when she'd rung me to say that her sister and brother-in-law would not only be attending the evening's fine entertainment with us but had also invited themselves along to dinner beforehand; and me, trying to be a good sport about it all, had said, "That'll be fine! We just need to remember that we have each other!"
But when Inge laughed it was tinged with the kind of bitterness that only comes with hard lessons learned over and over again.
Pink alone is enough to give me indigestion. I really don't need anything else mixed into the brew.