My Husband Grabbed Our Extra Taylor Swift Ticket for Himself
My two daughters and I were able to get four tickets to see Taylor Swift.
For months we agonized over which friend to invite to come with us three to the concert.
My husband ended coming with us and he had a blast.
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We'd just finished dinner that November Saturday night, and my husband turned on what I'd hoped would be the last baseball game of the season as I scrolled through Instagram. An avid sports fan, Mike barely acknowledged my screech of joy to learn the Taylor Swift Eras tour ticket presale lottery was open.
After spending way too much on Harry Styles tickets for my two adult daughters and me last summer and learning that Ticketmaster allowed ridiculously priced resale tickets on their site, I vowed never to get taken by scalpers again. In order for the three of us to see Taylor, one of us needed to win the lottery.
I turned to my husband, whose eyes were glued to the World Series on TV, and asked for our Ticketmaster login. When he answered he'd find it the next commercial break, I wished for an out. I sent the girls a screenshot of the presale directions and told them to register for the lottery — immediately. Within minutes, each of us enrolled, splitting our chances between New York and Boston, the cities my adult daughters work and live.
We got 4 tickets
My Bostonian museum administrator daughter was the only lucky one to get a pre-sale code. Since she worked from home on Tuesdays, we agreed it was a sign of good things to come. An hour after logging in, and getting kicked out, and readmitted to the ticket cue, my daughter secured tickets for the three of us, plus one for $250 each. It was a lot of money to spend on concert tickets, so I justified the expense, declaring the tickets Christmas presents.
We marveled that in spite of Taylor Swift "breaking the internet," we'd been able to score four tickets for their face value when so many of our Swiftie friends were shut out. We agreed to keep our good ticket fortune quiet, especially the fact that we had an extra seat.
For months, we agonized over which girlfriend to invite. If only we'd bought six tickets, we each could've invited a guest. My New Yorker removed herself from the equation first, not wanting the pressure of disappointing many for the pleasure of one. Her older sister echoed the sentiment, handing off the decision to me. Choosing one lucky gal pal was grueling. It felt like declaring one child the favorite. Publicly.
"If it's such a big deal," my husband teased, "just sell the ticket," knowing that wasn't a plausible option.
My husband chose to come with us
One day in April, out of the blue, he announced he'd found a solution: it was him.
I was ambivalent. I worried my 50-something-year-old Taylor Swift-neutral guy might find being surrounded by a stadium full of die-hard female fans rather than its typical Patriots fans uncomfortable or unbearable. Our girls, though, loved his idea and welcomed him with open arms.
Wowed by the awesome opening acts, Gracie Abrams and Phoebe Bridgers, he was visibly having a blast and was excited for Swift to take the stage. Song after song, I watched him enjoying himself, swaying to the music, singing along, glancing at our daughters, and soaking in their joy.
All was well. Then Swift sat at the piano to play her second surprise song, and random notes emanated from the instrument. Drenched during the previous night's deluge, the messed up piano threatened to break the spell we'd all been placed under.
My husband shot me his uh-oh, concerned dad look. At that moment, I wondered how I ever considered offering our fourth ticket to anyone but him.
Source: Insider
