I’m too old for this, I think as I make my way gingerly through the mud.

Rock concerts – especially outdoor rock concerts – are for teenagers. They’re for young(er) people in their twenties and thirties. They’re not for middle-aged women with grown kids. Yet here I am, arriving with my son and daughter-in-law and a former coworker to rock out on a late summer’s evening in Manassas, Virginia with Alice Cooper and Mötley Crüe.

I’m wearing Bermuda shorts (hey, it might get chilly once the sun goes down), tennis shoes (because these fields turn to mud when it rains…but at least they’re Converse, so I get a couple of coolness points), and I’m clutching the strap of my cross-body purse tightly against my chest. Pickpockets, you know. Thieves. Everyone knows they’re everywhere at rock concerts.

And the mosquitoes…my God, the mosquitoes. Good thing we brought a can of Off! along. I smell like an alluring mix of Chanel, perspiration, and mosquito spray as we pick a concession stand and get in line. A beer is $11. Granted, it’s a BIG, 25-ounce can of beer – but still…eleven DOLLARS? A t-shirt is $40. Two hot dogs, one cup of fries, and a soft pretzel – $21.

THIS is what an $11 beer looks like.

I’ve spent $72, not counting the $20 my daughter-in-law spent on my Groupon ticket, and we haven’t even made our way to the lawn yet. No wonder I haven’t been to a concert in two years. It takes that long to recover from the financial shock – and to save enough money for the next concert.

We’ve got lawn seats, which means a hike up a dizzying flight of steps built into the side of an enormous hill overlooking the stage. Oh, and did I mention we’re carrying lawn chairs, too? When we arrive at the top, thanks to the steep incline and the swamp-like Virginia humidity, I’m sweating more than a MasterChef contestant who’s just served undercooked chicken to Gordon Ramsey.

But we make it, and pick out a spot on the grass slightly to the left of the stage. I can see the stage – it’s a tiny little crescent, with tiny little people playing on it – oh, wait. That’s Alice Cooper and his band! SQUEE! And I can see on the Jumbotron that there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around Alice’s neck. Cool. Who cares that I’m drenched in sweat and gasping for breath? I’m listening to Alice COOPER!

Yep.  The Godfather of Shock Rock, the first musician to employ theatrics onstage – stuff like guillotines, boa constrictors, and baby dolls – is doing his Alice thing.

I don’t know a lot about heavy metal band Mötley Crüe, except that the drummer, Tommy Lee, was once married to Heather Locklear and Pamela Anderson. Oh, yeah…and Mötley Crüe did that video with lots of scantily-clad models gyrating in a strip club.

Girls, Girls,Girls? I think as I lower my rear end cautiously into a lawn chair. More like girdles, girdles, girdles, because I need some serious, super-hold Spanx to tame my rear expansion these days. I mean, look at the women around here. Skinny, some braless under their tank tops, laden with tattoos, clutching beers, and ready to rock.

If their mothers could only see them now…

But as we unfold our chairs and watch the show, surging to our feet to sing along to ‘Eighteen,’ ‘No More Mr. Nice Guy’ and ‘School’s Out,’ thrusting our arms wildly in the air and screaming and whistling ourselves hoarse after every song, I know that I’m definitely not eighteen anymore – but damn, I feel like I am, and that’s almost as good.

Despite the high prices, the walk to get up here, the heat, the mud, and the mosquitoes…I’m having a great time. It just goes to prove…no matter what they say, you’re never too old to rock.

Never.