I sing in the shower.
Okay, I sing fairly loudly in the shower, and yet it took me months to realize that Roommate was audience to my early morning routines. Once, after belting out a relatively decent rendition of LeAnn Rimes’ Blue (completely oblivious to the fact that I was being heard), I threw on a robe and headed toward the kitchen where my country-lovin’ roommate was making coffee.
“Damn, girl!”
“Ha! Okay, don’t go recording that and trying to exploit my raw, untapped talent, ya hear?”
Then somehow, we were singing a Roommate duet of What the World Needs Now. And doin’ it way better than those American Idol punks. Truly a magical moment.
But this morning, inspired by Kitten’s very early, pre-alarm jungle cat pounce, the song of choice was The Lion Sleeps Tonight. You know, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle…” and when I emerged all drippy haired from the bathroom still singing my wee-e-e-e we-ah mum-a-ways,
“Now, if there were such a thing as America’s Funniest Home Audio, I’d be a very rich man.”
“Whatever, Pumpkin.”
“Fuck you.”
Sounds like the perfect roommate. Sure you can’t get him to come to NY with you?
No perfecter® roommate situation has ever existed, which is why I’m living alone in New York. You can’t duplicate that kind of serendipity.
That’s “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”
Congrats on the job, and finding an apartment, and all that!
He is the perfect roomate and thus we must share him with the world instead of keeping him forever. I wish I had sing-a-longs! Husband’s aren’t as fun as roomates!
The “pumpkin” thing kills me. Too perfect.