When I was a young girl, my friends were all in love with teen heart-throbs.
You know... the pretty boys from TV and all the magazines.
Guys like; David Cassidy, John Schneider, Shaun Cassidy, John Travolta (I have my own story about him, but it took place much later in life) , Donny Osmond etc...
Me? not so much.
I was in love with another singing super-star.
And to tell you the truth.. I still kinda am.
My poor mother stood in line for over 11 hours to get me tickets to see him in concert when he came to town.
As I sat in the crowd, I noticed I was the only girl there under the age of 40.
I didn't care!
I sat there memorized looking at nothing on stage but a single perfect white piano.
I knew he would be there soon.
When he finally appeared on stage, I began to weep.
It was not the pretty tear rolling down the cheek kinda weep...
It was the snorting, sniffling, snot-flinging, whaling, kinda weep.
It wasn't cute.
There was even a reporter from the Akron Beacon Journal newspaper sitting beside me scribbling on his little notepad...
The next day the headline said....
He Writes the Songs the Make the Young Girls Cry...
Thank God he didn't get a picture with it!
I was gonna marry him.
I was gonna have his babies.
**sigh** it wasn't meant to be.
Barry, If you read this..... Call Me!!!!!
I know you just had your hip replaced...
I'd make a GREAT nurse!!! really! I would!
Just don't tell the Man-of-My-Dreams ok?
Oh Come on!!
You can't tell me that hearing him sing Copa-Cabana doesn't make your hips swing!
Don't worry... I redeemed myself with the next "cool" concert when I saw Rick Springfield.
(but he didn't make me cry!)