A Date with The King of Country

Some dates are soooo good, you remember them forever.

That was us last Friday night.

Last week on the blog, I shared a fun story and an even funnier photo of the Mr. and I from 23 years ago when we attended our very first George Strait concert. Today, you get the side-by-side.

We left out from the house so early, the sun was still shining. That never happens! After a not-so-bad rush hour to get downtown, we finally landed at one of our favorite restaurants, PF Changs. Never mind that my cowboy boots didn’t really fit in there. At least Scott wasn’t sporting his 10-gallon hat. We got to eat hot food, talk without interruption and everything. Who does that? Evidently not us very often.

Because traffic was absolutely nuts, we bypassed the parking garage and all nearby spots. Instead, we stashed the car at a secret location (benefit of Scott having worked downtown for so many years) and it was a lovely three-block walk to the concert venue. Just before we entered the Frank Irwin Center, we heard the event staff say this to the couple in front of us: “Oh, those tickets are void. You’ll have to go talk to the box office about getting a refund.” And then I noticed they were holding StubHub receipts. JUST LIKE US. I sort of panicked. Thankfully, ours worked just fine but we found out later there was a huge rash of people that didn’t get in because of duplicate tickets that were sold on StubHub. Let me just say that if our tickets had been void, you would’ve seen one very hot, very pregnant, very loud Texan.

When we entered the doors, I turned to Scott and mentioned we should probably get something to drink before the concert got underway. We found the nearest concession stand and lookie, lookie who I spied.

Along with Scott, Becca is probably the reason I became Catholic. We were like peas and carrots at A&M, serving as Fish Camp Co-Chairs together (long live Camp Claborn!) and we share some hilariously funny memories that I will never share on the blog because I do not want to be incarcerated. She’s like super smart. Like surgical oncology smart. I know. All my friends are doctors. Sing that Sesame Street song with me: which one of these doesn’t belong…

Anyway, it ended up being one of the sweetest surprises of the night. Of the thousands of people there, I spy her. It was so dang good to hug B’s neck.

Scott and I gave her one last hug, found our seats and settled in for the best concert. Ever. Granted, I’ve been to some stunners. Elton John is definitely in the top 3, right next to Barry Manilow. Oh, I kid.

But the King of Country did not disappoint. There was some Jason Aldean fella and he was alright. Little too much cussing and drunk talk, but his songs were okay. When George came out to a completely packed house belting out The Fireman the place went bananas. Secretly, I think that’s his favorite song. I’m almost positive it was the first song he sang when we saw him two decades ago. But it was the second song. The second one that got me.

Check Yes or No.

Don’t judge the video. Early 90s. What can I say?

I got an immediate text from Becca: “It’s your song. He’s playing your song!!” Yep, that’s the song Scott used to propose to me. I cried and we weren’t even five minutes into the concert. Mr. Awesome Pants sang for nearly 2-1/2 hours. All the greats: Troubadour, Marina del Ray, Unwound, I Saw God Today, The Chair and of course, Amarillo by Morning. My all-time favorite. And, I’m pretty sure I sang the words to each and every one loud enough that family in the Panhandle could hear me.

He ended with Cowboy Rides Away and there weren’t many dry eyes in there. Still can’t believe this is George’s last tour. Hopefully he will still play all the major rodeos here in Tejas. A girl can dream.

We left the concert still humming. I keep hearing his fantastic voice in my head, reliving all the great memories we have from dancing to them. Scott, Friday was a dream. Thanks for letting me tag along on your Christmas gift!