And I come running when you want me here*

On Friday, I bought tickets to see Ben Folds in October. He's playing with a philharmonic orchestra, and it should be fairly mind-blowing. It will be about the sixth or seventh time I'll have seen him live, and I can't wait.

But did I ever tell you about the time I kinda sorta met him? No? That may be because it barely really happened. Hell, I was there and almost missed it.

A few years ago, he was doing a tour at small colleges. I happened to hear a blurb one day on the radio, and tickets were only $10, so the husband and I decided to go. Tickets were general admission, so we got to De Pauw early to walk around and then eventually get in line to wait for hours for the best possible seat. On our way to the end of the snaking line, walking down the sidewalk towards us, was a shortish guy, camera slung around his neck, a stretchie cap pulled down low. The closer he got to us, we realized it was HIM.

Just as I had decided that yes, by god, that was Ben Folds, he looked up and made eye contact and smiled. Are you ready for this? I said,

"Hi."

I think he replied hi back, grinned at our stunned faces, and kept walking.

No autograph. No handshake. No "Ohmigawd, I adore you, you're talented, I will have your babies RIGHT NOW." Just "hi."

I don't have many regrets in life. But that whole scenario has to be number two or three on my list.

So on a Friday evening in October, I will be hanging around the venue, keeping an eye out. Because next time I meet Ben Folds on a sidewalk, I will totally offer to bear his children. Or at least formally introduce myself.

*If you know where that's from without benefit of Mr. Google, we can be BFFs. Seriously. 4-ever.