A Percussionist, A Pedantic Blowhard, And A Pensioner Walk Into A Bar

If there is one thing that remains true, it's that life keeps moving and you sometimes need to scramble and readjust to keep up. Take for instance, my long drawn-out one-sided love affair with the now most certainly forever defunct band, The Police. After packing up their rock 'n' roll suitcases and stepping off the tour bus without so much as a backward glance, they reemerged like a phoenix from the ashes and proceeded to break my heart all over again with their ill-timed reunion tour which was not conveniently planned around my third pregnancy like I would have hoped.

Now I fear it's time to put down the torch and take a much needed break from my starry-eyed optimism and face some home truths:

1. Sting and Stewart want to smash each other's face in if they spend more than four hours together. They can make with the warm and fuzzy for a limited time and then the gloves come off and it's back to the ribbing and ego sniping that made their brawling famous.

2. Sting is doing just fine on his own, thank you for asking. As much as it pains me to admit it, Sting is outrageously successful and fabulously wealthy. Why on earth would he go back to being one third of a democratically run slice of rock pie when he can sell out concert halls around the world and get the green light to make an album with his lute? I mean a lute! Really?

3. Stewart is better suited for the eclectic mix of work he does currently. Whether it be movie soundtracks or composing operas with a dash of Gamelan drum thrown in for good measure, his many and varied pursuits seem to fit his oddball personality and ricocheting interests. They don't call him the kinetic kid for nothing.

4. Andy Summers is really freaking old. Yes, the man is a magnificently youthful looking 69 years young but this is one pensioner who might not be around for much longer considering all the free sex and illegal substances he's dabbled in over the years.

And so it is with much difficulty and sadness that I raise the white flag and let go of my hopes for that one last tour or album and allow the fearsome blond threesome take their rightful place in the history books. There will be no nostalgic get-togethers at Sting's palatial Tuscany estate where discussions of reforming and bringing the whole world together in musical harmony will take place. Stewart will not agree to live in my basement and be my "other" husband and Andy will never take up residence in the tiny furnished gingerbread house I built in the fifth grade with him in mind. I imagine this is a world that is far more bleak than my concocted fantasy ramblings but I suppose I'll always have Duran Duran.

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