It’s rare my husband and I get to use our imagination for a date. It’s usually dinner or dinner and a movie, or just a movie.

I’m not complaining. Any reason to get out and remind ourselves that we actually chose each other on purpose and signed on the dotted line for more than citizenship is a welcome distraction. The fact that my mom is so generous with her time and patience and babysits for us very frequently is a blessing and I couldn’t be more thankful.

So last month my husband was given free tickets to a Michael Buble` concert. His question to me the day before the response had to be in to claim it was “Are you at all interested in this?” I didn’t think too long about it. It was an opportunity for us to get out and have an adventure that didn’t include popcorn, nachos, or paper-wrapped dinner. He was not nearly as excited, but wisely went along with it.

So the big night arrives. Last Friday was the day. My son had been home sick from school all day, and despite what the hieroglyphs have told me about such days, the kids both got along great all day long.

We leave the house with three hours to kill before the concert starts. Understanding we had to drive out to Seattle, we wanted to give ourselves lots of time since we’d be in the thick of commuter traffic…across a floating bridge… in the middle of a storm.

We grab some thunda’ from down unda’ in the form of steaks at Outback and then hit the road. There was a pre-show reception we could have attended, so we knew if we got there early, at least we could kill time there.

No worries there!

Traffic was at a craaaaaawl the whole way into the city. An hour and twenty minutes just to get to our offramp, THEN another hour in the crazy nonsensical downtown traffic just to find the parking structure.

We were ready to turn around and head home, but my stubborn hard-headed persevering and determined husband wanted to give it another try.

We made it to the parking lot. We made it to the arena. Then we had to find the right window to get our tickets.

Twenty more minutes go by as we are bustling around the perimeter of the circular arena in the blustery wet weather and we finally make it in just in time for the opening act to finish. My husband got a beer or two, and we found our seats. We had great seats! We find our row and do the ‘excuse me butt shuffle’ to the middle and sit down.

Well, I tried to sit. My apparently ginormous hips prohibited the elegant gesture I had imagined in my head. The cup holders wedged themselves into my hips and i shot straight up. I looked at my husband and tried to laugh to cover the embarrassment. I went in for a second try and had to strategically wedge my girth into the seat to succeed.

Thankfully, there was no one seated beside us because we looked like two line backers in pre-school chairs.

Seating aside, the whole thing was pretty cool. The show was great, Mr. Buble was very funny and entertaining when not singing. He did a bit about making fun of Justin Bieber everyone enjoyed. Who doesn’t love a good baby Bieber joke?!

We hit the 45 minute mark and it was all getting a little long in the tooth. While his voice is smooth and amazing, it seems I can only handle so many similarly timed and tuned alike songs. I even like standards, but i needed a bit more energy to maintain my excitement level given the amount of stress that was involved in getting there. I began looking around and found endless sources of entertainment.

It seems there’s a distinct ‘type’ of Buble` fan. Mostly, they are mid-forties, wine-drinking, perma-grin type of women. Their husbands were equally smitten with the crooner. My husband and I were able to keep our composure until about Elvis time. When he broke out in Hunk o’ Burnin’ Love and the effects screen put of flames behind frame-in-frame live shots, i lost it. I had to start laughing. The good news is I fit in better with the perma-grin women around me… the only difference is my husband and i were actually cracking up.

Then the penultimate hopeless romantic finale.

He broke out in the Beatles “All Ya Need is Love”. The crowd was waving their hands in the air simultaneously and just as we thought we had seen it all, love cannons came alive.

Oh yes, i said it. Love . Cannons.

White and red confetti hearts shot out of various cannons all around the arena. The main stage screen had bright fluffy pictures of rainbows and hot air balloons.

My husband and I could not stop laughing.

Given our shapes, we were dangerously close to rolling out of the aisle.

It was quite a sight. The whole thing.

He ended the show in this fashion. When he came out for his encore with a spotted smoking jacket-type get up, we decided to cut our losses and head out to avoid the mass exit at the end. Given that it took us over two hours in the car to get there, we did not want to spend another two hours just exiting the parking structure – of which we were on the top floor due to our late arrival.

We lucked out and got home in a matter of thirty minutes or less.

Now, you might be thinking to yourself, “STOP STOP! Don’t tell me more! I bet that crazy smooth hopeless romantic crooner set up an amazingly hot seductive evening for the two of you.”

To that i say Pish Posh!

Depending on your definition of romance, it could go either way. My husband did end up in bed together in the end.

In bed and laughing our asses off, cursing the ‘heart cannons’ and anti-sexy evening we had just managed to have.

We were Buble`’d !!

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