I have this thing with music….it’s kind of my religion. I’m not disparaging the big guy or any faith or house of worship, but my go to solace is music. My go to inspiration is music. My go to rage queller is music. My happy place is music. My inner soundtrack rocks by the way; it’s epic and comprised of a lot of 80’s hits. In my head, when I walk into a room, my inner soundtrack is pounding out When the Levee Breaks. When I’m arguing with Magilla I hear Whitney Houston singing I Will Always Love You as I’m envisioning choking him with a dishtowel. When I’m playing with Fat Baby I hear Julie Andrews singing something benign and lovely either from Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music. When I’m running on the treadmill I hear the obscure but fabulous gem by Robert Tepper in one of the Rocky movies where he’s fighting some dude in Russia and working out in a barn with a plough and deadlifting cows or some such nonsense. I can’t remember if it’s Rocky III or Rocky MMXLV. Also since this is my particular life soundtrack and my flea brain it should come as no surprise that this particular track has a complimentary video; complete with me moodily and cryptically leaning against a wall singing beautifully with an air of melancholy in direct lament to any and all weight gain of the past two years as I sweat like a water buffalo on a treadmill but I’m wearing a Burberry trench which I don’t in fact own and a fedora so it has to be cool and covers my wobbly bits. And at least once daily, The Benny Hill theme song is playing in my head as I’m dealing with various fires that I have to put out ranging everywhere from why that pesky roaming band of gypsies that only targets my house keeps moving my husband’s shoes that he swears he put there-like-always (no one knows where this is except him since generally speaking he leaves a wake of debris wherever he goes) to why my Dad is having trouble speaking to why my dog looks at her butt when she farts like it was an unauthorized tush activity to why Fat Baby is having a melt down over a band aid to why office technology (mainly my printer) is such an ignorant slut to the lady in the supermarket rammed her cart into the back of my heels because she’s to busy on her cell phone to pay attention.
So in direct correlation to what I’ve just stated, here’s the definition of irony.
While driving to work I encounter
While listening to
and the dude in the lead does this