I Gotta Crow!

My daughter and I went to a Sheryl Crow concert the other night. Even after doing about a hundred laps around the crowded lawn, not one person stopped me to ask why I wasn't busy tuning my guitars before I went on stage. As far as I could tell, there wasn't even a single double take. It's not that I was surprised, but I was still bummed.

For years, an occasional stranger would ask me if anybody has ever told me I look like Sheryl Crow. Each time it happened I would get a bit of a thrill, enjoy a few moments if imagining myself as a rock star. Those closest to me have generally been baffled by the whole thing, and I myself have for years searched the mirror in vain for any resemblance. Nevertheless it's always nice to consider other folks' point of view, especially when it beats the heck out of your own.

Like I said, I was not surprised that I managed to fly under the radar all those hours, even among people who were there for the sole purpose of seeing my one time doppelganger in the flesh. Before I left for the concert, I mentioned it to a friend who had entered my circle fairly recently, long after the last mention of any resemblance. "Oh I love Sheryl Crow," he said. I waited, thinking the connection would immediately spring into his mind. Nothing.

"She's great, isn't she?" I thought if I kept the conversation going he would come to his senses.

"Yeah. I really love her." Then, nothing. I wanted to hang myself. Or maybe start belting out a tune. All I Wanna Do.... All I wanna do is throttle you. Or at least unfriend you. Damn it.

Sigh. Anyway, the concert was great, and sometimes when the Jumbotron caught Sheryl at a particularly bad moment and at a particularly bad angle with her hair starting to wilt and get plastered to the sides of her sweaty face I could sort of detect a few wrinkles and maybe an ever so slight resemblance to what I see in the mirror on what would be for me a particularly good day. I soon forgot about the thousands who had neglected to ask for my autograph; not even the monsoon blowing horizontal rain drops at the backs of our heads dampened my spirits. After all, my mom would be arriving in the morning to do that. Lovable as she is, she rarely disappoints.

Nor does my ex. He has always been pretty well tuned in to my innermost thoughts, and still knows just what to say to make matters worse. Case in point when I told him we had gone to the concert. "Did anyone tell you you look like Sheryl Crow's mother?" He's good.

I'm better though. "Just call me Sheryl Crowsfeet." He laughed. He may not be waxing nostalgic about my rock star good looks but I bet he really misses my keen sense of humor.

Good things come to those who wait, and I have learned to be patient. I gave my friend -- the one who loves Sheryl Crow -- one more chance before I hit the "unfriend" button. I called, endured the obligatory how are yous and feigned interest in his weekend.

"The concert was awesome, by the way." The cad didn't even bring it up. I finally had to interrupt his story about whatever he thought was so interesting so we could get down to the business of the phone call.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Glad you had fun."

"She puts on a great show." I was not giving up so easily.

"I know. I saw her years ago at blah blah blah...." Seriously. Did he know how close he was to losing a loyal and caring friend. I was about to hang up on him when he seemed to be changing direction. "You know it's the strangest thing. After you told me you were going I took out one of my old Sheryl Crow CD's."

Omigod! I was about to have an orgasm. I knew what was coming.

"Has anyone ever told you how much you look like her?"

YES, YES, YES! There is a god! Hey, if it makes me happy, it can't be that bad.