I come from a long line of bad singers. We cannot carry a tune, can’t identify a tune, are unable to snap along with the tune.
But it does not stop us from belting out a little Motown as if we are the offspring of Aretha.
We have other skills. We can cook. We’re sensible. We smile and nod a lot. But, oh, to be able to sing.
On Saturday night, The Big Daddy and I went to church and when I cracked open the hymnal for the very first song, Mr. Smartass leaned over and said, “Bring it on home, Kath.”
And I lost it……..like I was on the verge of snorting.
We went out for pizza afterwards and met some friends later for a date night. He was cranked up the whole night for if you really, really think he’s funny he will continue to perform.
The evening ended at 11:00 when I found him in the garden of our friend’s yard, excitedly helping him pick tomatoes by flashlight like he had done in his own garden earlier so they wouldn’t freeze overnight, and I was entertained yet again by my boyfriend of the last thirty five years.
It makes up for this…………..
And this……………
And especially this……..
