It feels so good to be home - about to fall into my own bed. I've been sleeping on various people's couches in various locations for almost a week now. It sounds very exotic, but really - my life manages to sound exotic without actually being exotic. I slept on Sarah's couch for a few days while I helped her move (thus, two locations, same couch) and did the final paperwork on the sale of my house in Chicago (yay!) so I'm no longer a) The Man or b) Landed Gentry. Instead, I'm just living in my parents' basement.
The "sounding exotic" part comes in where I say I'm searching for a new house in a part of the world where Hollywood goes to unwind - a place where the potential kidnapping of Letterman's son was local news.
Anyway, after getting my house sold and Sarah's new condo into almost livable condition I then stopped on my way home from Chicago to attend a family function in Cheyenne Wyoming. My family are very, very funny people - and once again sound very exotic. I mean, one of the funniest stories my brother-in-law told me cannot be related here (or much of anywhere, really) because he's a lawyer and it involves a case that is still open.
But I did manage to find a funny story from the weekend that I can freely share with the world. And it still cracks me up when I think of it. (Editor's Note: Please remember I'm easily amused.)
So my brother-in-law and sister picked me up at the Denver airport and drove me home to Cheyenne. For part of the way we were joined by my some of my ultra-cute nieces and nephews. Keep in mind, these children have absolutely angelic faces. My nephew Trevor is four. My niece Mia is three. Their brother Lucas is five weeks old, and although incredibly cute, doesn't factor into this story.
The grown-ups were having our boring grown-up conversation and the kids in the back of the minivan (Editor's Note: Did you know that minivans are, in fact, rather luxurious inside? who knew?) were bored so they began entertaining themselves by singing songs. Trevor was singing rather well, in spite of forgetting the words to a particular part of the song and thus just repeating the last line he knew over and over again. He carried the tune quite well. I commented on this fact to his father - and said when he gets older they should get him into a boy's choir, as he has a great voice.
"If you think he's good on I'm a Little Teapot," said my brother-in-law. "You should hear him on AC/DC."
"Excuse me?" I asked, innocently enough.
Instead of explaining, my brother-in-law turned on the CD player, flipped through the 6-CD changer, found the song he was looking for and turned it on. The melodious introductory tones of classic hard rock filled the minivan.
"Hey, Trevor," said my brother-in-law. "What's the name of this song?"
The lyrics hadn't started yet. My nephew correctly identified the AC/DC song from the backseat. (Editor's Note: I'm too tired to remember which song this was. I'll find it and insert it later.)
He then proceded to sing along to the whole song in his clear, angelic four-year-old soprano.
It was glorious.
Other songs followed, and little Mia was not outdone. She sang along to most of the hard rock. Then her mom said, "Yeah, but what Mia really likes is Cake." She wasn't talking about birthday cake. In fact, she said, out of the blue one day Mia had begged them to play her favorite song - the jacket song, she called it. Pretty soon they figured out which song she meant.
So to show me, her dad found it on the CD player and in the opening strains Mia called from the backseat, "Yay! Short Skirt, Long Jacket!"
She sang along to the whole song. You have no idea how funny it is to hear a three-year-old singing about having all the right alocations (impeccably pronounced, I might add.)
Anyway, during one of the guitar solos, my sister called out "Hey Mia, what kind of a girl does he want?"
The expected response: He wants a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket.
The actual response: He wants ME!
You go girl. You go.
