Picture the scene:
I wake up from the best sleep of the week, albeit the shortest. The sun is draped over my skin, making me look like chocolate dipped in honey.
“Mmmm. Today’s going to be lovely,” I think, stretching my neck, massaging my spine by twisting, and elongating my whole body until my joints snap, crackle and pop.
I shuffle downstairs, phone in hand, and make a dreamy coffee with my trusty Nespresso machine. I take one sip and then:
Ping! An email from Ticketmaster.
“Your tickets to Beyoncé: COWBOY CARTER TOUR”.
Beyoncé? As in Giselle Knowles-Carter?
As in Icon and employee of Blue Ivy Carter?
Naturally, I assumed it was a scam. Obviously. But then, I get a text:
“Good morning S. I hope you like your surprise. See you Saturday x.”
My flabber? Well and truly Gasted.
My lovely new date – clearly someone with exquisite taste and frighteningly accurate attention to detail – has only gone and gifted me a night with Queen Bey herself. That’s right: I’m about to cry, scream, and Lose My Breath with thousands of other adoring fans, looking Crazy in Love and getting absolutely Heated.
I’MGOINGTOSEEBEYONCÉ?!
Will report back once I come back down from Heaven.
Ciao for now,
S x