American Idol

My purple tyvek wristband screams, "I'm with crazy girl." Tomorrow, at 5 a.m., my wristband will get me into the American Idol auditions. To be precise, I will be a very short piece of the crowd of thousands waiting to get into the Scottrade Center at 8 a.m. Event organizers advised us to be there three hours early for extra fun. Yesterday, Birdie registered to audition. That's when she received a blue contestant wristband and I, along with four of her friends, received our purple ones. If only she had a friend who looks old enough to be her chaperoning mom. My hopes for tomorrow are simple:
No rain. I'm too short to get poked by an umbrella, but three out of four Birdie friends are tall enough to lose an eye.
No flu outbreak. Coughing and sneezing trickles down to the short person level. Maybe I do need an umbrella.
No free coffee. I don't want to wake up whomever sleeps in the porto-potty. Neither do I want to drop my American Idol ticket down the hole.
No Ryan Seacrest Look-Alikes. If Birdie and her friends blow out my eardrums with "OMG, it's Ryan," please let it be the real deal.
No Regrets. My Birdie can sing. Crazy girl also has a talent for recognizing a really good time. No matter how tomorrow works out, I anticipate no regrets about being the Birdie chaperone. Unless, maybe, someone loses an eyeball.