Unlike my good friend Purple, I am not a showman1. I go about my business. I lurk. Exuberance is not my thing2. I prefer not to reveal my feelings and motivations to those around me, unless I'm in comfortable company.
There are moments, though, when I am moved to action, when I forget my surroundings. I arrived at the day care with little Bam-Bam4 this morning, and "Beat It" was playing on the boom box as he and I went through our routine of safely stowing his coat and backpack and leaving him to his fate for the day. I began, as is my wont, to sing to the little tyke, right there in the multipurpose room of his diversity-rich school, there among his fellow day-care pupils.
Let's leave it at this: it appears that fat middle-aged white guys belting out Weird Al Yankovic lyrics is just a touch beyond the range of these kids' normal expectations.
1 Purple knows this to be a damned lie. I simply prefer, in general, a considerably narrower audience than he does. Sasha3 also knows this to be a damned lie, but that's just because she's a Myers-Briggs slut.
2 Purple knows this to be a damned lie, but can shade and correct the record as he chooses, because I'm digressing out of control here.
3 Who posted the awesomest Valentine ever.
4 Who outweighs his older brother by about 12 pounds and can no longer truthfully be said to be "little," but old habits die hard, said the nun as she prepared for...uhm, never mind.
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6 comments:
One might argue that positive and negative exuberance just may be related to the sporting event available and your fondness for one of the teams.
And thanks for the allied code name for the D-Day landingsalentine shout out.
LOL -- I just read my comment. It looked a bit different when I wrote it.
They call me DOCTOR Purple . . .
CONGRATS! Purple. Good on ya.
Gonga Rats, Dr. Purple.
You can sing?
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