This week I saw a freaking Beatle… Paul… The other good ones are dead. (Just kidding, obvs... I love Ringo.)
My dreams all came true that day… Well, almost.
When I was about 11 or 12 years old I “discovered*” the Beatles. I listened to their records** non-stop, watched any movie or documentary I could get my hands on, and dreamed of kissing Paul McCartney on the mouth.
As anyone who has ever had the privilege of listening to The Beatles knows… Whatever happened in Liverpool over 35 years ago was pure magic. There has never been anything like it, and there will never be anything like it again. So to have been in the presence of rock royalty, and to share three hours of the same time and space… was something else… Something I will never forget.
And here (in no particular order) are some of the things that I said to my husband at the concert:
“He can really pull off a mullet – not many men can.”
“He’s not really twisting, but he’s definitely shouting.”
“I should probably be a back-up singer for Paul McCartney.”
“How do you think one becomes a back-up singer for Paul McCartney?”
“He’s got such skinny legs.”
“Oh no… something from his latest album.”
(During the “Live and Let Die” fireworks display, which was insane and fiery) “We are all going to die tonight, aren’t we?”
“Do you think he wears diapers? Three hours is a long time for a geriatric to hold it.”
“This whole sitting at concerts thing is awesome.” (The majority of the crowd was as old as the hills and refused to stand.)
“I want to make a Paul McCartney Agreement.” (Perhaps something similar to the Eddie Vedder Agreement?)
The only possible way the concert could have been any better was if I was somehow able to kiss Paul on the mouth.
* They were always there though, weren’t they?
** On a record.