“Do you know Pink Martini?” My future husband asked me this question in 2002. It was our first date and we were exploring musical commonalities—a critical topic area for determining the likelihood of a second date.
“I LOVE Pink Martini,” I gushed, my legs and feet buried in the sleeves of the fleece that he’d retrieved from his car. It was a cool night in August, and we were having dinner on the patio of a restaurant in Bellingham, Washington—the ‘half-way’ point between his Seattle home and my Canadian residence. “I just saw them in concert earlier this year, but would love to see them again,” I said, coyly alluding to a potential future outing.Continue Reading