Friday, June 19, 2009

Brings Me Round Again

My husband. He's funny and knows me pretty darn well. That's a good thing, since we celebrated the 14th anniversary of the beginning of the madness last week.

I was in my office being totally useless after the girl was in bed last night, round 10ish--hey, it's Summer, or will be this Sunday. I was randomly surfing--yea, okay, Stumbling--the Internet for writers' sites when I hear the new (to us) Singstar crank up downstairs. When the man isn't trying to hit the weird notes on Rock Band (read semi-falsetto too much of the time) he's got a pretty nice voice and I do like to listen to him sing. But I was ~not~ going to join him.

It's a Freudian thing. I'm totally blaming my mother.

My mom told me from puberty through last month (cuz I haven't sung around her since then) that I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Casting directors for any of a number of musical theatre productions from 5th - 12th grade concurred, though they were more polite about it, so I don't sing. Not in public and not around other people.

My one public karaoke experience involved so much alcohol that it was a miracle I managed to stay vertical. Two hours and lots of bad bar coffee to sober up after ONE song. Any wonder I skip this particular form of entertainment?

The ironic and cruel twist to all this is that I love to sing. I sing along with music I love for my own pleasure all the time because it makes me happy. (And I play the music loud enough I don't have to hear myself much!)

I was firmly boycotting the karaoke last night in favor of discovering new blogs to say I'm going to follow then fail to follow through on. So what does he do? He starts singing an Elton John song. Does he know me or what? I am such a sad little fangirl when it comes to Elton.

I tried to resist. I may be a little slow, but I know an obvious ploy for my attention when I see hear it. I'm weak. Before he got to the part in Rocketman where it goes, "I think's it's gonna be a long, long time..." over and over, I was downstairs singing along.

And there I stayed for the next two hours. Oh, and did I mention that the painters painted the front door late yesterday evening so we were unable to close it? Yea, I bet the neighbors loved that last night, especially when we dug out the 90s disk for a little "Baby Got Back*" action.

It's a silly little thing, but it tickled me. Incidents like this remind me why I married him and why, after 14 years and a lot more crap than any two people should ever have to endure, we're still HERE. He knows me well, my Raidman.

* FTR -- I may not be able to sing, but I can rap like a mofo when I want to and totally kicked his ass ;-)


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TMOAC said...

Ahhhh.... they are tricky these boys of ours. Kind of like how three year olds are so darn cute you have to love them even when they're dumping nail polish all over your carpet. ;o)