Volume

Every morning as John heads out the door, he stops at my desk to say goodbye. Today he reported that he had a song stuck in his head:

J: If I had a hamster, I’d hamster in the morning . . .

(This was a reference to a hilarious and underappreciated Facebook status I posted a week ago.)

Then, together, we sang:

If I had a hamster, I’d hamster in the morning, I’d hamster in the evening, all over this la-and. I’d hamster out danger! I’d hamster out warning! I’d hamster out love, between, my brothers and my sisters, a-all over this la-a-and . . .

It wasn’t, shall we say, the most melodic of duets.

J: Clearly we have different notes associated with that song.

M: [Hysterical laughter.]

J: What?

M: [Tears of hilarity.]

J: What?

M: That’s not how it works! You don’t associate notes with a song. There are notes in a song, and you try to sing them!

J: [Chuckling.] Huh.

M: Seriously. You’re doin’ it wrong.

J: [Same chuckle, no admission of error.]

M: Your world is so loose and fancy-free. I don’t understand how anything ever comes together.

J: [Thinking.] Volume.

M: Oh, my God.

J: [Adorably self-satisfied smile.]

M: That was genius.

J: Thank you.

[Hugs and kisses. John heads out the door. I turn to the computer.]

[A moment later, he charges back through the door and heads to the bedroom.]

J: My face is too dry!

M: I’m blogging this entire thing. Right now.

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