MY DATE WITH BOB

It's no secret, I've got a thing for Dylan. I'd never leave my husband for him, but if he'd promise to play the harmonica for me I might seriously consider a road trip. If there's anything about 42 that goes into the books, it's this night:

Second row. Breathing the same air. I'm sure he was looking RIGHT AT ME during this stunning performance of Mrs. Jones. Oh. That would be Mr. Jones. Freudian slip. He kind of staggered a little at the end, and I think it's because of the temporary trance I put him in. Don't deny me this - it's possible.

He was still thinking about me here, which is why his piano playing was so terrible.

That isn't Randy Travis playing the keyboard behind him, but I know. I thought that, too.

Here he's getting really intense. C, D, C, D, CDCD, D, C, D.... Yes, Bob, you're amazing. It's all good.

More Ballad of a Thin Man. You know he sees me.

And then there's this. Me. Bob Dylan. In the same photo. That white glow around his face is because he is so happy. Me, too, Bob. Me, too.

Scratch one off the bucket list.