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"Uh-oh," I murmured as Tom waived to the audience and danced
off the stage. I watched in horror as a roadie ran up and swept all the unmentionables over to his left and out
of sight. What did they do with all of them, donate them to charity? Did Tom keep them all? Should I have signed
something nice on mine? Better yet, did anybody have any spares for me?
"We're nuts," Sheila said as we waited in line to buy a program. And a CD. And a t-shirt (for my mom).
Okay, two t-shirts. But no panties. I guessed they figured they had enough of those already. Too bad for us.
"Guess we got caught up in the moment," I said as we headed back to our seats in eager anticipation of
the second set. "Besides, what's the worst that can happen?"
Just then, the lights dimmed and Tom's band returned to the stage, followed shortly thereafter by Tom himself.
He opened with a ballad, "Green, Green Grass of Home". Gosh, the man could really sing. My heart skipped
a beat as I sat there picturing the rolling hills of Wales. That, and me and Tom rolling down them, hand in hand.
Luckily, before I delved even further into the concept of May/December romances, he snapped me out of my reverie
with "What's New Pussycat?". Again I shouted the "Whoa, Whoa, Whoas" along with the crowd.
The rest of the set went by too fast for my liking. Tom played more of his hits, plus quite a few songs that I'd
never heard before, and several phenomenal covers of songs that I felt were sung even better than the originals.
Then, sadly, it was over. He waved to the crowd, said his goodnights, and was gone. Gone from my life, forever.
But not forgotten. Not by a long shot.
"Well, that was fun," Sheila said as we made our way to her car.
"Fun? Is that all you can say? Fun?" I stopped walking and turned to face her. "That was amazing.
Stupendous. Incredible. Why isn't he on the road more often, performing in huge stadiums instead of rinky-dink
arenas?"
"Well, he is sixty-four, you know. How much gyrating can a man do before his hips finally give out? Besides,
he's no Neil Diamond."
I nearly slapped her, but, realizing she was my ride home, I chose to ignore her comment and instead walked the
rest of the way to the car in silence.
"You mad at me?" she asked, as she pulled out of the parking lot. "You're awfully quite."
"Neil Diamond can't hold a candle to Tom Jones!" I shouted. "How could you say such a thing?"
"Oh, okay. Um, I'm sorry. But two hours ago you couldn't have cared less about the guy."
"A lot can happen in two hours."
"Apparently. Can I make it up to you with a drink?" she offered.
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