I Shook A Famous Hand

I like hanging out with my husbands motorcycle club. They aren't Sons of Anarchy, but they also aren't Wild Hogs. They fall on the cooler side of halfway between, with their flat caps, rolled pant legs, wallet chains, and leather jackets.

I'm often the only Old Lady tagging along, and I am very pleased when time works out and I can go. The club is funny and fun to be with, and standing with them is a pretty cool place to be.

Last night was a meet up to welcome an out of state club member who was in Seattle to play his guitar at The Tavern. At dinner, the guys talked about this new guys club creds: where he was from and how he's the only member in his whole state, between general talk of motorcycles and intense moments on said motorcycles.

Later we stood around, listening to music and waited to meet this guy. And then he was pushing his way through the crowd, shaking hands, calling me sweetheart, and all around being regular. We talked about how bad the weather was, and he said he said he got to experience great weather the last time he was here, when he played the Key Arena.

Um, what? The Key Arena? That place that hosts huge concerts?

Yes. Apparently his day job is playing the guitar in Keith Urban's band.

Holy Freaking Cow.

I surged between wanting to throw up and wanting to never wash my hand.

And really wishing I'd bought one of his t-shirts. Nothing says class like "Nutter" written across my chest!