So we're all agreed - ticket touting is bad. But so's not being able to trade your hard won tickets in extreme circumstances. And, having waxed lyrical about the possible pitfalls, there was something inevitable about the call from our babysitter to say she couldn't make it.
We were lucky - thanks to a devoted grandpa who stepped into the breach - but otherwise, we'd have been stuck with two hugely expensive tickets which we'd have been unable to refund, or even pass to a friend - because they had our names stamped on them!
Our domestic minutiae was nothing compared to the great weight of expectation last night.
It's been 21 years since Tom Waits last played the Edinburgh Playhouse - and many of that original audience were back, a little older, a little greyer but still keen for a really memorable night.
And then there were those of us who've never seen him live, and wanted to see in person, the owner of that gravelly old voice.
And the price of the tickets - a whopping £95 each - and the intense security which meant we all had to show our passports to get in (although in fairness to the Playhouse, there were no delays, at least on the way in.)
So no pressure. And Tom Waits certainly didn't show it - arriving onstage 40 minutes late to a crowd yelling "come on Tom, we've our work to go to."
Theatrical as ever, he strikes a pose on a wooden carousel - stamping his feet to stir up clouds off dry ice, and at the same time stirring up a storm of music.
Part Brechtian mad man, part ringmaster, part circus clown, he directs the music with gusto, jumping around dramatically in style and genre. From blues, to polkas to old-fashioned ballads.
The downside for those of us in the nose-bleed seats (you can't surely call them cheap seats at £75 a pop) is that his vocals are lost in the sound mix and the cavernous depths of the Playhouse.
You can barely make out the lyrics - although I know some people would say you can never make out Waits' famously strangulated delivery. But it's a bit disappointing.
Then there's the fact that he has such an eclectic back catalogue there's bound to be the odd song you can't stand as well as the ones you adore.
Personally, I was delighted to hear The House Where Nobody Lives, Raindogs and Falling Down - but there were so many more, I'd have loved to have heard, not least almost every track from The Heart of Saturday Night.
But this is Tom's choice - and it's quite some show, from the roaring cabaret opening, through the softer ballads to the big blues numbers of the end.
It's nothing if not spectacular and there are plenty of glimpses of him too. Despite his claim that he rarely tours because he's naturally cantankerous, he seems to be revelling in it all, telling bad jokes at the piano, directing the audience to sing along, clap and cheer. And they do.
For most of us, it's been well worth the wait.