Getting fitted for a Strait Jacket

The countdown begins….

Last week my wife bought tickets to her next encounter with the King.

George Strait is coming to Lubbock on March 26^th.  And life, as I know it, will change as we count down the days to his highness’s visit.

As for me?

I could use a Strait jacket. This is all maddening.

This will be my third encounter with the King even though I am never outside of his shadow. Carol has reminders of her allegiance to the King all over our home.

There’s the George Strait/ Bud Light neon sign in the laundry room. The STR8 FAN bumper sticker on the garage refrigerator (or as George crooned in his hit “Write This Down”---“put this on your fridgerator door”) and of course the infamous sign that greets anyone entering the house----“Unless You’re George Strait or God---Wipe your feet!.”

When the announcement came that George was coming to Lubbock, I knew what would happen next. I’ve seen it before and it isn’t pretty. First, the desire for tickets is trumped by the desire for “good” tickets. Next, the issue of money is broached.

“How much is too much to get close to George?” is the question for a day. Then that whole question gets ditched in the rationalization that Carol has a good paying job and “deserves” to treat herself to “good” tickets with the other menopausal women who worship the ground his boots trod.

Then the triumphant moment of acquisition. The scream that denotes she has scored something for hundreds of dollars within the confines of row three or four.

“Yippee!” was the yell this time. I could hear her shake her booty from my Mancave when the moment of acquisition was consummated and could hear the sound of money flowing from my bank account into George’s needy hands.

Next she takes several days to determine concert clothing. Clearly she will wear jeans and her custom Roper boots that I have to pull off her feet following the concert. But what would be appropriate for a top? That decision will come in a week or two. These decisions take time. Heaven forbid we rush into a western top faux paux.

I am the driver this time. I will be charged with driving Miss Daisy to Lubbock….finding the proper accommodations….and getting her to the concert in plenty of time for her to wade into a sea of cowgirls to buy a $50 concert T-shirt thus proving she was on site for the function. Then I will take my place near the top of the rim of the venue to listen to my I-pod until the end of the concert when I will make sure she gets safely to the car and off to the hotel.

I certainly don’t want to give the impression that I dread this time of year. No, I find it to be soothing. The four weeks leading up to a George concert means I don’t have to worry about undue scrutiny as to my life style. If I play my cards right----I can even get some fried chicken for supper without castigation. There is an up-side for the Cheaptalker!

And I always get a blog or two out of the experience. Like the time the women charged the men’s room at the Alamodome and used the urinals during Reba’s set so they could be in the crowd for George’s opening…..and the time that George roped and killed a little cow during his annual roping extravaganza. All great stories that certainly will become one of the most popular chapters in my first book.

Yes, as we used to sing during the 7^th inning stretch in the good old days at Busch Stadium: “The King is Coming.”

Lubbock…..March 26^th……

ARRRGG,