Did you ever get a song stuck in your head and no matter what you do it won't go away?
About halfway through the grocery this morning, I realized I was bobbing my head to Imma Be by the Black Eyed Peas. If you haven't heard it, Imma Be is a right catchy little tune. But when you are a 50-something woman bebopping your way through frozen foods to a tune only you can hear. . . well, people stare.
Not that having people stare at me is a new thing. I once sat through an entire church service with a pink curler imprisoned in the back of my hair, but that's a different blog post.
The problem with earworms - those pesky tunes stuck in your head like frantic birds flapping around a warehouse - is that once they get in there, you can't do a darn thing to get rid of them.
A few weeks back, I drove to Columbus to help Annie paint the rest of her apartment. I was looking forward to some alone time with my daughter figuring we'd get a lot done and have a blast doing it. (By my estimate, it's not a family visit unless you laugh so hard you snort Diet Pepsi through your nose at least once.) Instead, I nearly drove Annie crazy thanks to Lady GaGa and a little tune called "Bad Romance." And the fact that I have a tendancy to sing out loud to my earworms. The visit progressed something like this:
Want your bad romance . . . walking up two flights of stairs with painting supplies, wine, sewing machine and a suitcase.
I want your drama, the touch of your hand
I want your leather studded kiss in the scene
I want your love, love love, love
I want your love . . . spreading out dropcloths and stirring cans of Westminster Gold and Legacy Blue.
Caught in a bad romance
Caught in a bad romance . . . washing paint out of my favorite Harley Davidson tshirt where Annie "accidentally" caught me with a paint roller.
I want your love I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance
I want your love and all your lover's revenge
You and me could write a bad romance . . . driving to JoAnn Fabrics for material to make kitchen curtains.
I don't want to be friends
I want your bad romance
I want your bad ro. . . Annie brandishing a big bolt of polka dotted fabric and threatening to staple my lips together if I didn't STOP WITH THE LADY GAGA ALREADY.
But the worst. . . the absolutely most nightmarish worst. . . are earworms of songs you hate. Those are the most potently awful, like a curse that you can't do a thing about. All I have to do is hear the tiniest snatch of them and they're embedded in my brain for days. Songs like "It's a Small World After All" or "The Song That Never Ends" or anything by Burl Ives.
What did I just do!!????
Now I've got Burl Ives stuck in my head!!
Must. . .turn on . . . radio . . .and. . . wash out. . . mind's ear. . . .lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala. . .