I am a crappy gift giver.
I can never think of good presents for people, or the “perfect gift” is also three thousand dollars, so then I sulk around until the day before whatever gift-giving day approaches and grab the suckiest thing off the shelf and pass it off like, Yeah, I TOTALLY planned this crappy gift. YOU’RE WELCOME.
(I should amend this to say that the above paragraph only applies half the time. The other half I just don’t get anything. About a third of the past ten Valentine’s and Father’s Days have seen me explaining to Fred what went wrong with the present and heresorryhaveabeerloveyou!)
This Father’s Day, I was determined to get a present that was awesome and unexpected and not socks. So I bought us tickets to go see Demetri Martin at the Chicago Theater last night. And not only tickets, but fourth row pit tickets. Close enough to see the stubble on the comedians cheeks, not close enough to be covered with spittle from their shouting. This close:
We got drinks that cost more than a week of Emma’s school tuition and felt very old until we saw one gentleman that we were pretty sure was older than us. The cane was the clue. Then the lights went down and the music was loud and Fred called me old AGAIN and then Demetri Martin came out and we laughed for nearly two hours straight.
There were six performers in all, and while I can’t recommend you run right out and catch them all, I will say that David O’Doherty was my favorite (after Demetri, natch) and Kristen Schaal had one of the bluest sets I’ve heard.
My face hurt so much from laughing, and I’m pretty sure Fred had a good time. You know, since it was for him and all.