So Hubby says one day, a few weeks ago, that he entered a drawing to see Sting (his man-crush) in a private concert. And it's just for the tickets, we'd have to pay for the rest (the hotel and the food and such). But the concert's location is not really far away. And he won't get them anyway. So it really doesn't matter.
And then, a few days latter, he received an email that started with "Congratulations!"
And, let me tell you, a private concert is the way to go. It was at a super small, beautiful old theater. In the gorgeous lobby, with the ornate chandeliers and hand-painted wall murals, were banquet tables piled with food. And a fully stocked bar. And feel free to help yourself to as much as you'd like. It's all free.
And then head on in to the actual theater (you can take your food and drinks with you) because Sting is going to play for a few hours. And his band will include Hubby's favorite drummer (Hubby is a drummer, himself). He'll play lots of Police, but also lots of Sting-different-time-signature songs, so everyone (at least Hubby and I) will be happy.
Oh, Hubby was in Heaven.
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