I LOVE TOM JONES. Not only do I love his music, but there is something about the almost 70-year-old man that I find totally hot. And I’m not usually into old dudes, I mean, geez, Grey is only 32. I can’t put my finger on why but TJ makes me giddy as a schoolgirl taping a New Kids on the Block poster to her bedroom wall. If Karin’s husband in another dimension was supposed to be Fitzgerald, then my alternate universe soul mate is Sir Tom.
The first time I saw him live was in Sydney when I studied abroad. It was at the height of the “Sex Bomb” craze and unlike the other live performance I saw there, Tom didn’t need to do origami with his genitals to turn me on; he knocked my socks off singing fully clothes. Granted, he was only 59 at the time, but that man is the epitome of sex symbol. I could see why thousands of women had brought underwear to toss up on stage to him.
The next performance of his I attended was in Baltimore. I actually packed some panties to pitch, but I have such a wimpy throw they just succeeded in hitting the lady two rows in front of me in the head. The poor old gal was almost strangled while trying to remove my thong from her neck. Grey and I went to the show together and even he was dazzled by “The Voice.” He wholeheartedly agreed with me that Tom’s one of the greatest performers in the world. At one point, I turned to him and jokingly said, “Tom Jones is the only man I’d ever cheat on you with!” and he enthusiastically replied, “Me too!”
My third time with TJ was here in DC — at the 9:30 Club, a really small venue, where, if security was just a little cooler, I probably could have actually joined Tom on stage for a round of “What’s New Pussycat?” but, unfortunately, they’re not. Oh well, there’s always next time!
This one’s for you, Karin! (Figure Skating + TJ = H-O-T) And what with the Olympics coming up…