OH MY GOD IT'S A SHOW. WITH HORSES.

The drive downtown to see Lewis Black was not interesting just because of the crappy traffic and the rain. There was also another element in the madness. We saw something. Something big. Something difficult to pass over. And I'm pretty sure both my husband and I wish it had been a crime. Or our own parents gettin' it on. Clowns? Scary, scary clowns. Really, seeing anything else probably would have been preferred.

What we did see was a giant black billboard with one word on it that neither of us had ever heard of. There was also a quote. From Larry King of all people, "The greatest show I've ever seen."

Now, Larry King's what, a million? I'm pretty sure he's seen every show. Ever. Wasn't he at the rapture and the Super Bowl?

Lastly, there was a profile picture of the head and neck of a stunning white horse.

That was it. Entire composition of billboard.

To which I immediately said to the husband, "What is that? Is that some kind of horse show?"

And then I drop it. I'm not crazy. Hardy har har. I'm cool. I'm collected. I'm a good wife.

...

Two miles later: the same billboard.

...

"What is that? Is it a show WITH HORSES? Honey? Honey?"

My husband assures me he has no idea what the billboards mean.

A couple more miles: there it is again.

"Is it like Cirque De Soleil," I ask, which is a show we've never seen and have never had much desire to see.

It is important to note that I have been trying not to make the husband take me to things that I know he won't enjoy. As each year together passes, and we're going on 8 years now, I try to take this more and more to heart. Because this is a man who would sit through just about anything for my happiness. (I'm looking at you, Twilight movies. At least I know to be ashamed for liking you. And for knowing that if my husband did enjoy you, I would rethink all my feelings for him.)

My point is that me and the hubby, we're older. I don't need to see everything. The hubby missed the years when I would have wanted to go to lots of concerts, experimental theater, art openings. When not only would I want to see a local band, I'd know all the area's band names and have them arranged in my mind by my affection for them. I'd stalk them in Schnucks and talk to them about produce.

I'm not totally recovered. Sometimes I'll see something and have a youth relapse. I'll read something like "Florence and the Machine are coming here!" and my heart quickens and my brain goes all Liz Lemon, "I want to go to there." Then, I pause and consider how the hubby would hate every minute of that and I get out my IPOD and my pulse calms and I am content.

Honestly, to be straight with myself, I know that having to get dressed and go to a venue and deal with people and see live music would not be, in reality, my favorite thing anymore anyway. I am no longer Florence's demographic and I do not need to be in a very emo mosh pit with those who are. I don't even like living somewhere with neighbors. People. Too close to me. Thank you no.

And Florence would not be my friend in real life no matter what my imaginary world may be showing me in grainy video in my mind. We're not going to have instant and immediate long conversations where we totally get each other and share inside jokes that we somehow have despite being total strangers. She won't singsong her side of the conversation with me either. In real life, I bet she's so weird that she makes me look normal, and I think putting the two of us together in a room would make some sort of awkward explosion (of more awkward) and then we'd both slit our wrists just to escape the situation.

Anywho, cut to another mile down the road. One word. Larry King quote. Beautiful horse.

"IS THIS A SHOW? WITH HORSES? I WANT TO SEE A SHOW WITH HORSES! WHAT IS IT, HONEY?"

At this point, if you can't tell, I have started to lose my sh*t. The little girl that still lives inside me somewhere, who loved horses, who even had a horse at one point, who read stories about horses, who watched The Black Stallion over and over again on disc (yes, you read disc correctly there) starts to wake from her slumber deep in the recesses of whoever it is I am now.

So we go to Lewis Black and I smile at my husband and act cool and he's forgotten all about it and I try to push little psycho Happy-Wife-As-A-Child back down and shut her the f*ck up. Because she is all kinds of nuts in my head now. I try not to think about what the hell that billboard was about. A show? With horses? Ha! No! Surely not!

This is me when I was a kid. With Lightning, my horse.

Miss ya, Buddy.

AND HE KINDA LOOKS LIKE THE HORSE ON THE BILLBOARD.
WE'RE SO F*CKED.

When I think about happiness and my childhood, I think about when I was riding that horse. I particularly remember us running through alfalfa fields in rural South Dakota. Complete and total freedom, complete and total peace, complete and total happiness. If I've ever had a perfect moment, that was when it happened.

We see Lewis Black. We come home, go to sleep. The hubby gets up early on Saturday to watch soccer. I get up late, groggily start my morning routine. Sip my coffee, check my email.

I try to stop myself, but I can't. I type in word I hadn't heard before.

Cavalia.

Let out little noises.

Run downstairs, interrupt soccer.

"IT'S A SHOW WITH HORSES A HORSE SHOW CIRQUE DE SOLEIL WITH HORSES HORSES HORSES FREE HORSES RUNNING AROUND FREE NO REINS JUST RUNNING AROUND THE INTERNET SAYS IT'S LIKE WATCHING A POEM IT'S A SHOW WITH HORSES HORSES HORSES-"

And even though he's going to hate every second of it, by noon, we had tickets to Cavalia. The first set of seating that you can have without getting to meet the actual horses. Because even though I'm sure I'd like that, maybe the hubby will hate the show a little less knowing he doesn't have to meet the horses.

And it's in the afternoon. Perfect for us elderly folk.

I'm a little worried I might openly sob at this show and I don't know why and I'm pretty sure I need therapy. And Xanax. I mean, there is a reason we didn't see the movie War Horse.

And the only thing the adult in me says about it is, "What exactly does a poem look like? This could really go either way." I try not to focus on how this will probably be the worst thing I've ever sat through or best thing I've ever seen. Sweet Jesus, what have I gotten us into?

Lewis Black Date

The hubby enjoys Lewis Black. When we were dating, I gave him some Lewis Black cds for the long weekend car trips he took to see me. When I heard Lewis Black was not only coming here but was playing the Peabody Opera House, I knew I had a stellar Christmas gift on my hands. Not only is my husband impossible to buy for, he is also very difficult to surprise. That's more me, though. I just am unable to not tell him things.

This year, however, he was so busy with work and work-related travel that I was able to keep my big mouth shut. I figured one more thing on his mind would only add to the stress, so I wrote out a Christmas card for him. Work would slow down around Christmas and then he'd have over a month afterwards to know the show was coming. The card said that he had two tickets to see Lewis Black, the date, and the venue. I stuck it under the tree wrapped in a little festive box.

Because I can't just hand him a card.

He seemed happy and surprised with his Christmas gift when he opened it. Good job, Me!

Finally, the Friday night came. We left 2 hours early, grabbed some food at Sonic, and started the drive downtown. Traffic was horrible. There was a stalled truck, and when the hubby flipped on the radio, guess who was playing in town next door at exactly the same time as Lewis Black? The St. Louis Blues hockey team. Yeah.

We could have jogged to downtown faster.

Anyway, we managed to find the opera house, which sits next to Union Station and Scottrade Center. Then, we got to scour the land for parking. Did I mention it was raining?

We found a parking garage. I rooted around fruitlessly by my feet in the car for the umbrella. You  know, where the umbrella is unless my husband has taken it somewhere else. My husband didn't say anything. *IMPORTANT FOR LATER*

Then, we got out of the car and walked like mall walkers in the moderately falling rain. The streets were full of people going to Lewis Black and to the Blues game. The rain was more annoying then anything else. We made it into the opera house 2 minutes before the show was supposed to start.

The Peabody Opera House recently reopened in downtown St. Louis. We'd never been but had been wanting to check it out. It is a beautiful venue with a simple, memorable layout once you're familiar with it. Not entirely unlike the Fox Theater. Lots of good seats and stunning details.

Lewis Black and his opening act were, of course, hilarious. He's as quick and well-spoken as you'd expect. In person, he comes across so much warmer and has a sort of kind, old man quality that I hadn't really recognized before. The audience was encouraging and laughed loudly and often. When, during one of his little rants, he actually broke the microphone stand, his reaction and ours was so funny that I think for a few moments we all just lost our minds in some wonderful, crazy, perfect way.

The show ended after 11, which for us, is like so late we can barely function. When exactly we become "if it's after 3 pm, we can't do it" people is beyond me. If we'd been more awake, and if about a thousand other people weren't thinking the same thing, we might have stayed after the show since Lewis Black comes out and signs autographs afterwards. Since we were just trying to stay awake at that point, the hubby and I headed out.

In the pouring rain.

The torrential rain.

The rainy rainy rain.

The not "frustrating" rain. The "WOW" rain.

It didn't matter how fast we walked. We were soaked by the time we got to the car. Really, by the time we got 4 steps outside the opera house. However many blocks later, yeah, we were soaked. To the bones. I'm pretty sure even my internal organs had gotten good and clean from the rain water.

As romantic as it sounds, walking with your loved one in sheets and sheets of rain IS NOT ROMANTIC. It is cold and uncomfortable and heavy and you can't see through your hair or your glasses and your shoes are all slooshy on the insides and it IS NOT ROMANTIC.

We finally made it to the parking garage. When we got in the car, my husband said, "Even if we'd brought the umbrella, I don't think it would have helped because it was raining so hard."

I'm pretty sure this was meant to be comforting.

To which I said, "I don't know. Probably would have helped. We should have brought that. Next time, for sure."

He then says, "Why didn't you bring it?"

Says the man who has it for work. I said, "Well, I don't know where you put it and it isn't over here."

"Yes, it is," he says. 

I laugh and say, "Um, no. It's not. I looked for it all around on the floor when we got here. Didn't you see me do that before we got out of the car."

He paused. Then said, "You know you're sitting on it, right?"

...

I gave him an icy look and said, "No, I am not." Then I made the mistake of reaching my hand back, and yep. I HAD BEEN SITTING ON THE UMBRELLA THE ENTIRE TIME IN THE CAR. How I did not feel that for the entire drive is beyond me. And possibly lots of drives prior to this. How long had I been sitting on that damn umbrella? Months?

Incredulous, I said, "WHY DID YOU TELL ME THAT? THIS IS ONE OF THOSE THINGS YOU SHOULD HAVE NOT TOLD ME." Because now we're sitting, in the car, soaked. With a lovely dry umbrella padding my ass.

Then, my husband asked, "Did you think the woman next to you was a prostitute? I mean, she was, right?"

And we forgot all about the umbrella and started talking about the couple sitting next to us at the show.

I love this man. I never need worry we'll run out of things to talk about.