We went to the symphony tonight. It was my own fault. It was my punishment for taking Sue to see “Talladega Nights,” the Will Ferrell comedy about NASCAR racing. For two endless hours I had to sit through the tortures of Beethoven, Bach and, well, that’s about the only two classical composers I can name off the top of my head.

It’s not that I have anything against Beethoven, but I’d rather go to a rap or heavy metal concert unarmed. I try to pay attention, honest I do. I try to appreciate it, but there’s something about classical music that makes me squirm and fidget.

I haven’t coughed in two months, but I will guarantee that whenever there is a soft, slow movement (and there are plenty of them) at this concert, the back of my throat will start to tickle and I will have to cough like a chain-smoker at breakfast. My nose will start to run, I will accidentally kick the back of the seat in front of me.

As the conductor walked out in his tails, I pictured him in his tighty-whities running around as if he were on fire like Ferrell does in “Talladega.” I figure it might keep my coughing under control. It did. But for some reason I felt a huge sneeze coming on. The music was building, building, building – OK, now.