Picture it. You just sat down after a hard day at the paper mill. That steaming pork chop is in front of you and the fork is an inch and a half from your mouth. Your eyes are closed as your taste buds begin to water. Closer, closer comes that first bit of sustenance when... who the heck is that singing?!?There's apparently this tradition every year where some folks like to walk around from house to house bellowing holiday classics like Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer at the top of their lungs. Why? I guess they're ticked that their own dinner wasn't ready when they got home. And boy, were my owners ticked. Everyone had to stop what they were doing, open the front door and let out some expensive heat to apparently warm the Elvis impersonators at their doorstep. Maybe it's because of their blue lips. I admit it, that part was pretty impressive. But wait, there's irony to this story.
As much as my owners griped about feeling obligated to listen to these wanna-be Tiny Tim's, what's the first thing they did with the kids when the dishes were done? Yup, gather round the untuned piano and try to sound like cats in heat themselves. What gives? Maybe it makes a difference when you know the person who is out of tune versus listening to the guy you vaguely remember from the rapid checkout lane at the GoodsMart. It's times like this that I'm glad TaTa can only blow bubbles to the tune of Feliz Navidad. Trust me, it's the next best thing to the waterfall setting on your sleepytime sound machine.
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