Sometime in the next few days, I’m supposed to watch “Dirty Dancing.”
“Dirty Dancing” the musical, not some random people dancing dirty. That would be sort of silly. If I wanted to watch random people dancing dirty I would watch EPA officials and lobbyists.
The “Dirty Dancing” I will have to watch is the stage version of the movie about two people — follow me here — who dance dirty.
I think they dance dirty, but it’s possible that they really don’t dance dirty but some uptight people think their dancing is dirty and then the town preacher who, until then had banned dancing, finds out that his daughter has been dancing with Kevin Bacon and then Sylvester Stallone shoots up the entire town.
Wait, it’s possible that I may have my movies confused.
Oh well, at least I’ve added another degree in that Kevin Bacon game.
The reason I know I’m supposed to watch “Dirty Dancing” in the next few days is because my wife told me so. The reason I don’t know exactly when I’m supposed to watch “Dirty Dancing” is because I don’t care. Knowing that I have to watch “Dirty Dancing” is enough. I don’t need to know when I have to watch it.
It’s like when I was a kid and we lived overseas. I knew that eventually my mom would take me and my six brothers and sisters to some medical facility and we would have to get shots.
Knowing that I had to get shots was enough; I didn’t need to know when I had to get shots.
When my wife told me that I had to watch “Dirty Dancing” with her and our 20-year-old daughter, Emma, she asked me if I wanted to go.
“No,” I said. “No, I do not.”
As I’ve gotten older I’ve learned the importance of being honest. Of course I also learned — long ago — that it doesn’t matter what I want, no matter how honest I am.
A few days ago I had to go shopping with my wife and Emma while we were on vacation. And by “shopping” I mean we would enter a store that sold things that only female people were interested in, where I would look for a chair and sit while my wife and Emma spent money.
At one store, my wife looked at me and asked if I was bored.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m sorry,” my wife said and then continued shopping.
See, I don’t think that when my wife said “I’m sorry,” that she was telling the truth.
It’s like Donald Trump saying, “You know, if I wanted to, I could pardon myself. But I would never have to do that because I didn’t do anything wrong. But I could if I wanted to. So nanny nanny boo boo.”
We’re going to see “Dirty Dancing” at the Starlight Theater in Kansas City. I have seen a lot of great concerts and plays at the Starlight Theater that I really enjoyed. I have also seen a few concerts and plays at Starlight Theater in which I had absolutely no interest.
That’s what happens when you’re married and have a 20-year-old daughter. You find yourself going to things in which you have absolutely no interest.
But that’s OK. It’s the circle of marriage.
Emma and my wife are very excited to see “Dirty Dancing” in Kansas City. I’m not sure their excitement meter is as high as when we saw “Mamma Mia” in Kansas City, but it’s pretty high.
The good thing about seeing “Dirty Dancing” in Kansas City is that the men’s restrooms at Starlight will be virtually empty.
Many years ago, during a “One Direction” concert at the Sprint Center, I walked into a men’s restroom and there was only one other guy in the entire room.
That’s right. It was Kevin Bacon.