I’ve decided I’m an amazing singer. I just want to put that out there.
My taste in music is kind of stuck in college. I just can’t shake Ray LaMontange or the Continuum John Mayer album. I force my children to learn the words to songs like Banana Pancakes and Eric Hutchinson’s Rock & Roll because, well, I can. And I will NOT change the radio to accommodate them. Tough Love is real in our pack.
That’s partly because I vividly remember my mom getting ready in the mornings to a K T Oslin record or always needing to listen to John Secada in the car. I turn up the volume to Dangerously Loud for those songs when they come on the radio now. Such good memories come from belting out High Enough by Damn Yankees on a ride to the beach. It’s only fair my children be able to do the same when I play Clay Walker circa 1994.
I’d like to think what I listen to is really eclectic, but right now, I’m LIVING for Adele. I sound EXACTLY like her in my vehicle. And today, I got caught.
I had an appointment with my OB today 45 minutes away, so I had a lot of time to really warm up my vocal chords. I enthusiastically worked my way through Tennessee Whiskey while I waited for my chicken sandwich from Chic-fli-a, and then it seemed like I caught every red light on the way home. But it was ok. My spoitify was on point.
Polynesian sauce in hand, I couldn’t get enough of Justin Bieber’s Sorry when it came on. I noticed an older man in a white truck next to me straight up gawking while I was waiting for one of those lights to turn, but deter me it did not. I got louder and more enthusiastic as the song went on, and I looked over one more time before passing the same guy and he clapped for me.
I’m counting this as an audience who left feeling like I’d given them my all. I have a feeling he’s still singing “Is it too late now to say sorry? Cause I’m missing more than just-a your body” under his breath, even now.
‘Cause I’m that good.