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My dad's sixty-four. He wears Sansabelt slacks, extra-large golf shirts
(sansa-chest hair showing), and brown Penny Loafers. That's all. I tried to imagine him in Tom's getup. It wasn't
a pretty picture. In any case, Tom didn't look sixty-four. Fifty-four, maybe. In certain lighting, such as the
glow from the stage lights, maybe even forty-four.
As soon as he opened his mouth to sing, "Mama Told Me (Not to Come)", I found myself intently listening.
By the second song, "Daughter Of Darkness", I was on my feet with Sheila. And by song number three, "She's
a Lady", I was screaming my "Whoa, Whoa, Whoas" right along with the rest of the crowd. In short,
I was hooked. The guy definitely had "It". Sad to say, my mother had been right all along. Of course,
she'd never hear it from me. Sheila, on the other hand, was getting it loud and clear.
"I thought you didn't like him," she shouted in my ear midway through the first set.
"What gave you that idea?" I shouted back, never taking my eyes of the stage.
"Because you said, and I quote, 'I don't like him'."
I ignored her comment and sang along to "Delilah" instead. Maybe I did say that, but that was before;
before I'd seen him, heard him, danced with him. At that very moment is also when I noticed something very unusual.
I casually glanced over my shoulder at the throng behind me and was shocked to see rows and rows of adoring fans
with their panties flying high over their heads. Even quite a few of the men had their boxer shorts waving in the
air. This, I had assumed, was something that had gone out of fashion with bell-bottoms and wide lapels. Yes, again
I assumed incorrectly. Surprisingly, nothing about that night was going as I thought it would.
Things were about to get even stranger.
On pure impulse, and with a considerable amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins, I reached down and, much
to Sheila's shock, I too removed my panties.
"What are you doing?" she shouted at me.
"What's it look like?" I shouted back, circling the pretty, pink undies over my head.
"But everyone else brought theirs with them." She yelled into my ear. "They're extras!"
Still, it didn't stop Sheila from following suit. Hers were a lovely blue number with white lace trim.
Oh well, I thought, next time we'll bring extras. Besides, the breeze down their felt nice. At least they were
clean, I figured. As soon as the concert was over, I'd put them back on. And really, that was what I was planning
on doing. What I wasn't planning on was when Tom broke for intermission and the crowd rushed forward and started
throwing their undergarments onto the stage. Ours were grabbed by assailants unknown and tossed along with the
others.
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