Maddie joined me in Maryland last weekend for workout time, pool time, and of course, Ed Sheeran time. We both used this concert as an excuse to recycle our British flag tanks, though I guess not everyone knows their flags so well…
We went to Le Madeleine before the concert and one of the chefs approached us and asked us if we were Australian. Assuming he meant because of the matching flag shirts, I said “No, we’re going to see Ed Sheeran–he’s British.”
“Good, I thought I was going to have to denounce my citizenship.”
When he delivered our food, he scolded us for ordering healthy food at a French restaurant. To be clear, this man’s version of healthy meant cream-based soup, half a roasted veggie panini with goat cheese, and a side Caesar salad. We topped it off with what felt like endless small French bread slices with butter AND jelly, and I also couldn’t leave without a small strawberry cheesecake sample. All and all, his version of healthy was definitely 1200 calories.
As we left the restaurant, he told us to “enjoy the concert and order something fattening sometime.”
We theorize he may want to fatten us up and cook us.
After a short trip to target (I saw a toy online I wanted to get for Lily and neither of the Targets I’ve been to have had it. I said “awwww shit” in front of a baby in one of the toy aisles, so according to Maddie I can’t shop for children’s toys anymore), we were standing in a giant line that looped past Merriweather’s Dumpster not once but twice. At least it only went past the port-o-potties once.
Not soon after we got to our covered seating (apparently there is a difference between row double zero and row double oh… I thought we were in the front and here we were almost in the back), the storm of all storms unleashed itself onto the peasants in the lawn seating. It kind of reminded me of Titanic, except in Titanic the people on the lifeboat didn’t whip out their phones to take photos and videos of the poor people still left on the ship, or in our case, participating in a mandatory wet tshirt contest.
While waiting for the opening act, I felt something sticky on my leg, only to look down and see a fair amount of blood with no visible source. Was it someone else’s blood? Was it ketchup that really really looked like blood? We’ll never know for sure, but Maddie the soon-to-be-nurse was disappointed in herself for not having alcohol wipes on her and we all know I’d rather hang out with blood-bourne-pathogens than brave the rain to get a paper towel or napkin.
For me, seeing Ed Sheeran in concert is the closest thing to a spiritual experience I’m ever going to get. If you’ve never seen him perform, he doesn’t play with a band or backup singers–he instead uses a loop pedal to create his harmonies and back track.
The concert was only a little over a week ago but I’ve already looked into his tour dates to see when I can see him again. Unless I can make it to London, it looks like it won’t be anytime soon.
The morning after the concert, my mom picked me and Maddie up and drove us down to Virginia Beach for the week. Two out of six days, the weather was absolutely perfect. The other days, I mostly focused on consuming a strict Bloody Mary only diet and getting in some quality time with the family (especially my little Tiger Lilly):
She’s a bit bigger than last year’s vacation, where I remembered being terrified of accidentally stepping on her. “Why would anyone leave the baby on the floor for you to step on?” Maddie asked me. I never said my fears were rational.
I certainly wasn’t as disciplined as I was last vacation–walking five miles every day and blogging every day. I did manage to come back five pounds lighter though–which I guess I have to give some credit to Jillian Michaels videos, hot lemon water every morning, and only having what I will call one “fat night,” where Maddie, my mom, and I decided to share a pizza, cheesy bread, and fries with..you guessed it, more cheese. Oink oink.
We came back a day early, giving me some extra time for some D.C. night life. Natasha and I decided we’re going to start a blog called “The Fault in Our Bars” where we review all of the different bars in D.C. Any excuse to have liquid dinner–you know.
As lovely as my past week has been, I must admit that Mags still remains in the back of mind. I was thinking about how last year when I went to Virginia Beach, I asked my friend Hiba to check up on the chinch while I was away. She had trouble latching and unlatching his cage, so I ended up coming home to an empty chinchilla cage.
“After about fifteen seconds of initial panic, I realized I knew just the place to look for him–under Carol’s bed. While I’m not sure how long Margaret Thatcher had free reign of the entire house, I am sure that he probably wishes Hiba would babysit more often,” I wrote last year.
I can’t say I’ve healed or that I even want to. Sometimes I see a picture of him and smile; sometimes I see a picture of him and cry.
Give your fur ball a nuzzle tonight for me, because I sure am missing mine.
Thanks for being patient while we got caught up. I’ll try not to stay away so long next time.