I’ve always loved going to concerts. In college, I became a music reviewer so I could get free tickets to all the shows and hang out with the bands. When Mr. P and I were dating, we regularly hit The Duck Room and Scottrade Center to see our favorite performers.
But when the Little Ps made their debuts, our pseudo rock star lifestyle gave its final curtain call. For instance, I’m dying to see The Black Keys at The Pageant on Thursday, but I feel 3-year-olds probably don’t belong in a sweaty, booze-infused dance pit in front of the stage.