Set The Night To Music

I can’t sing.

I used to be able to; not that I was ever in danger of becoming the next American Idol Old Farts winner, but I could carry a tune in a bucket without too many holes. I started singing in elementary school, was in the choir through 5th grade, and kept singing on my own—self-accompanied by the guitar—well into adulthood. I appeared in high school talent shows and did all right. No one laughed or booed me off the stage, in any case.

Then came Real Life and the amount of time I spent playing the guitar and singing along decreased dramatically. I had other things to do, and never gave it much thought.

Until a couple of days ago, when I bought a Roberta Flack CD.

And don’t ask “Who?” unless you want me to reach through the monitor and bitch slap your way-too-young face.

I seriously like this CD; it’s music from my youth, and I know all the words to most of the songs. I used to play a few of them on the guitar. So as I sat here at my desk, playing a computer game, I decided to sing along.

If PsychoKitty could howl, he would have. As it was, I got a “you should stop that” look. He jumped off my lap and left the room.

I’ve totally lost my singing voice.

I am now equal to That Kid from the American Idol tryouts—you know the one. He tried to sing “Like A Virgin,” complete with Madonnaesque body rubbing, and had no clue he was completely, painfully awful.

Really, it was that bad.

It’s not a total loss, however. When the Boy comes for the holidays, I now have a sure fire way of embarrassing him in front of his Significantly Better Half.

Life is good.

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