I know I *can’t* be the only one… I just *can’t*.
As a twangy banjo tune drifts in to the back room, the shudder creeping up my spine signals my fight or flight reflex. My heart rate accelerates, my eyes dilate, my palms shake and shine with perspiration. I close my eyes and try to breathe easy, knowing it will all be over soon… but I can’t help but tremble. It’s happening again and the walls are closing in…
Hubs has broken out his Statler Brothers record.
As the seemingly innocent tune of “Flowers on the Wall” floats back to gently assault my ears, I try to put into words (the very words you fine folk are now reading) just *why* this song creeps me out into a quivering mess. Well, before I dissect the lyrics, I’ll tell you, my fine audience, that super deep male voices in songs give me the shivers. I don’t know why, I admit that this is one of my irrational fears (Of which, I admit, I have many, one more irrational than the last). However, as irrational as it is, there’s no taking it back. Their faces aren’t a convincing case to garner trust, either. I’m pretty sure I might have seen them on America’s Most Wanted.
Jeez, just look at that guy third from the left. My god.
SO NOW. Let’s examine the lyrics, shall we? *claps hands together*
Flowers on the Wall
But all that thought you’re givin’ me is conscience I guess
If I were walkin’ in your shoes I wouldn’t worry none
While you and your friends’re worryin’ bout me I’m havin’ lots of fun
Countin’ flowers on the wall that don’t bother me at all
Now don’t tell me I’ve nothing to do
You can always find me here I’m havin’ quite a time
It’s good to see you I must go I know I look a fright
Anyway my eyes are not accustomed to this light
So we already know he plays solitaire for about eight hours straight.
Don’t tell me I’ve nothing to do
Well, here I go again. I had a blog before once upon a time, but I had to put the poor dear down. It looked like a GeoCities monstrosity. That, and I have a nasty habit of throwing away things I write. I get nervous and simply trash it. Now I realize I have a lot to say, and I’m sure my coworkers are tired of my babble. So, I shall purge it out onto the internet. I’m sure very few will actually read this, considering even Midwestern housewives have one these days. (I’m imagining lots and lots of bland, inoffensive scrapbooking.) However, I don’t mind getting lost in the fuzzies. Sometimes being faceless can bring the most peace of mind. (Wow, I’m so deep I can’t even see myself.)