As a couple, we suffered a complete wardrobe malfunction at Springsteen’ shows.
Him: I went to a summer show in 1993 in my briefs. Well, actually I had my briefs under a pair of silk boxers. It was too damned hot that day, and in 1993 you didn’t have pits, you just suffered in the field all day long. I forgot home my summer shorts, and the choice was between jeans and briefs. And I am not interested in martyrdom, nor in prudeness. So, on with the underwear under the underwear!
Her: Well, I spent almost a whole show in my bra. And it’s not my fault. There was this guy at my side completely drunk, and you know how it goes… we jump, and scream, and jump… and well, jumping and jumping, the poor bastard threw up. And some of the stuff, you know… eeeew… just landed on my t-shirt. So, what do you do? We were quite in a good position, I did not want to lose my place near Bruce just because a moron had to drink enough to be sick ON me. So I discarded the t-shirt, I had my pashmina (never EVER go to a show without a pashmina) wrapped around me, and between that and another guy sweater I managed not to expose anything peculiar. Not too much, anyway. Besides, if you are there to see Bruce, why are you looking at someone’s boobs?
Why did you not wear his shirt, instead?
Well. It did not occurr to me. Why, indeed?