Thursday, November 11, 2004
please help me
Yes, for the blessed love of Mary, Mother of Jesus, please help me.
(or "take a brief peek into the mind of The Good Doctor Noyz")
A cold front literally blew through town today. The chill of Autumn finally hangs in the November air.
This evening at the house was going pretty much like any other.
Like last night, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. The Wife was giving The Boy a bath.
The Boy has a very plush oversized bathrobe My Mother made (yes made! She even embroidered his name on it) for her new and sudden if not wholly unexpected Grandchild last spring. Very plush, because My Mother recognizes and demands quality. Oversized, because her midwestern farmer's daughter roots make her a very practical woman and she wants The Boy to get a couple year's use out of it.
As The Wife was taking The Boy out of the bath, she said something about it being cool because it's Fall, and she forgot to grab The Boy's robe to put on him when she removed him from the tub.
This is my thought process:
In the Fall forgot the robe. . .
You know where this is going, right?
Yes, that's correct. . . Straight to Bette Midler, because it's almost like
"in the spring becomes the rose".
AAAGH! Make it stop! For the past four freaking hours I've had that stupid song playing in my head. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.
Except the whole song is not playing in my head because thankfully I don't know all the freakin' words. Which is hard to believe because the damn song has been around for-freaking-ever. Hell, you can't hardly go to a wedding without hearing it played near the end of the reception after the cake has been cut and everyone has gotten a little liquored up at the expense of the bride's father.
Does that make it stop? Does that make it less annoying?
No! Because the music is still playing. But in the places where I don't remember all the damn lyrics I hear Bette Midler mumbling. Yeah, that's a sexy sound.
And the recurring image to go with it: Kramer's Macaroni Midler!
So please, my dear reader, make it stop! MAKE IT STOP! Help me! HELP ME!
|
(or "take a brief peek into the mind of The Good Doctor Noyz")
A cold front literally blew through town today. The chill of Autumn finally hangs in the November air.
This evening at the house was going pretty much like any other.
Like last night, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. The Wife was giving The Boy a bath.
The Boy has a very plush oversized bathrobe My Mother made (yes made! She even embroidered his name on it) for her new and sudden if not wholly unexpected Grandchild last spring. Very plush, because My Mother recognizes and demands quality. Oversized, because her midwestern farmer's daughter roots make her a very practical woman and she wants The Boy to get a couple year's use out of it.
As The Wife was taking The Boy out of the bath, she said something about it being cool because it's Fall, and she forgot to grab The Boy's robe to put on him when she removed him from the tub.
This is my thought process:
In the Fall forgot the robe. . .
You know where this is going, right?
Yes, that's correct. . . Straight to Bette Midler, because it's almost like
"in the spring becomes the rose".
AAAGH! Make it stop! For the past four freaking hours I've had that stupid song playing in my head. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.
Except the whole song is not playing in my head because thankfully I don't know all the freakin' words. Which is hard to believe because the damn song has been around for-freaking-ever. Hell, you can't hardly go to a wedding without hearing it played near the end of the reception after the cake has been cut and everyone has gotten a little liquored up at the expense of the bride's father.
Does that make it stop? Does that make it less annoying?
No! Because the music is still playing. But in the places where I don't remember all the damn lyrics I hear Bette Midler mumbling. Yeah, that's a sexy sound.
And the recurring image to go with it: Kramer's Macaroni Midler!
So please, my dear reader, make it stop! MAKE IT STOP! Help me! HELP ME!
|
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