OH - MAMA MIA

Story ID:	886
Written by:	Kathe M. Campbell
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	LasVegas Nevada USA
Year:	1993
Person:	Kathe

OH . . . MAMA MIA
Kathe Campbell

It had been a long and weary day at the doctor's office and the sight of a square box sitting next to the front door soothed my poor old ragged soul. However, while bending over to pick it up I nearly fell flat on my face. The thing was heavy as lead. Disappointedly thinking it was probably a car part for my husband I decided to leave it lay until happily noting it was addressed to me. Never let it be said that I can't move heaven and earth when packages arrive in my name.

After dribbling the box into the dining room with my feet, I sat down on the carpet with a pair of scissors. Beneath a card was a plane ticket, up front concert seats, and what appeared to be a thousand quarters. Guess I wasn't too surprised at my youngest daughter, KT, paying mega postage to pull off the perfect surprise. The card poetically invited me to meet her and our Molly in Las Vegas for a girl's night out, for three days, that is. And then a final, "WooHoo!" Dear Lord, I mused, what's so WooHoo about one gal eight months pregnant and an 'ol broad sporting a brand new right arm prosthesis? Two darling daughters had cooked up the plan to celebrate my return to family and indulge in a fresh new perspective on life.

Vegas in December was a delight. What was always the glitter capitol of the world was now the Christmas capitol in a splendid array of holiday color, song, and decor. On the evening of the Julio Iglesias concert, I managed to win $500 on the dollar slots at Caesars Palace. Nothing tickled me more than to hire a taxi and escort my darlings to a fancy place for steak, crab and lobster, or both. Spoiled rotten by Montana beef, we three ordered fish. It was superlicious.

Around eight or nine o'clock our Mol made her farewells back to the room. Unborn Keli had not appreciated lobster and was giving her mommy tummy fits. We secured our Mol in bed making sure she was carefully medicated and okay. KT left a note at Caesar's desk to come and retrieve us if Mol called in serious distress. We two then eagerly proceeded into the big lounge where, sure enough, we were escorted right up front. Is it safe to say that my poor old heart was pounding in adolescent anticipation while KT excitedly held her mom's sweaty hand?

I must admit, I have only a few Julio Iglesias tapes and CD's, just enough to keep me singing along while working in my office, housekeeping, and driving. I need nothing more. If you've never been an adoring fan up close or from afar, then you know not what I mean and have my permission to stop reading right now. You should be aware, though, that my dear husband has known it was love at first sight between me 'n Julio. That's been okay with him always, and I like that.

The moment arrived. Lights lowered and tingles ran up and down my spine like a tired neon light. Julio stood center stage opening the show with one of his greatest numbers to ear-splitting screams from the female fan club. Engaging in the pandemonium it seemed refreshing to observe many of Julio's adoration society were my age or older.

Then came the second number," Can't Help Falling In Love With You." Julio stepped off stage to sing and stroll amongst his fans, gazing flirtatiously into each spellbound eye. After thunderous applause he began the song a second time. When approaching our table he took my new hand in his and asked me to stand and sing with him without blinking an eye. My mind raced, and my face burned and flushed while my poor old heart beat like a trip hammer. I could have never forgotten those lovely lyrics, but felt my contralto wavering just slightly in the firmness of his arm about my waist. I immediately put my mind into concert hold and did well until making the mistake of peering into those black Spanish eyes. Oh . . . mama mia!

After applause and whistling, I melted into oblivion as he planted a peck on my cheek and whispered, 'Gracias.' He then moved on to others until this beautiful melody was finished. My KT swears up and down she did not set this up, and you know . . . somehow I believe her.

Sometimes when feeling a little sorry for myself, and maybe just a little insecure, I think of that wondrous evening and how good Julio Iglesias smelled.

Kathe Campbell
© 2004