Oh, but I did. I sang.
You know that old joke about not being able to "carry a tune if it had a handle on it?" I'm fairly certain that joke was written specifically about me. No one in my family can sing. It's sad, because we're all big music lovers.
Yesterday, the kid and her dad and I attended a rousing summer party/cook-out given by some friends from our church. Their daughter is friends with our daughter, which worked out well because A had someone to play with the whole time.
I started out slowly, sipping some punch that was lightly spiked with rum. Eventually I started mixing random liquids that were set up on a table outside the party tent. I realized I made one of my drinks way too strong, so I squeezed an orange wedge into the cup because, you know, that always helps. After the sun went down, the hosts fired up "Rock Band 2." There was a drum kit, two guitars, and a couple of microphones. And a huge screen. The kids at the party were the first to try out a song, belting out a downright decent version of "We Got the Beat," singing the lyrics as they scrolled across the top of the screen. A was dying to take the microphone and sing but we pointed out to her that there was just one little problem: she can't read.
Various partygoers got up and sang or banged out a tune. As I was watching someone flipping through the song list, "Alex Chilton" by The Replacements went by. I exclaimed, as did a librarian (the hip kind, not the dowdy, wool-skirt-wearing kind) standing next to me. We conferred for a few minutes and it was clear we both a) loved the song and b) knew the words. I should add that the librarian is pregnant and therefore was not drinking. It seemed I had consumed enough for the both of us (and her baby), though.
Moments later, microphones in hand, we were singing "Alex Chilton," accompanied by kids on the guitars and drums. The kids didn't know the song, but played admirably. In fact, I am pretty sure most of the partgoers were equally perplexed by our music selection. But, we sang it loud, we sang it proud. My new librarian friend and I chatted about Paul Westerberg for a while until eventually P and I decided we should be responsible parents and go home. (He drove.) I gave the librarian my card and demanded that she Facebook me. I also may have proposed to her at some point. It's hard to say.
Anywho, it was a fun evening. I returned a call to my mother when I got home, and mentioned to her that I sang. Into a microphone. In front of other people. She paused for a moment. "Oh . . . you sang?" Her voice held a mixture of surprise and sympathy. I'm headed to a picnic this afternoon with some of my therapy dog friends and I just want to reassure you that neither alcohol nor microphones will be in attendance. I'd hate to keep embarrassing my mother long distance like that. Little does she know, I came very close to performing "Monkey Gone to Heaven" as an encore last night.
Speaking of music, lately I have really been digging The Phenomenal Handclap Band. I doubt their music is going to bring about peace in the Middle East or anything like that, but it's fun.