Sing!

My earphones snugly in place, I prepare to do some serious spring cleaning. The dogs slink into a corner. They cringe as I prepare to belt out “Kings & Queens” by Ava Max.

A lot of people say they can’t sing. I really can’t sing. I mean, really.

“Could you please sing softer?” my third-grade teacher once told me. The entire class was lifting its voices to “On the Erie Canal”. I loved that song. “Much softer.”

“How about for my birthday present, you don’t actually sing “Happy Birthday”,” my brother said last year.

“I’m sorry, but we need people who can read scripture and sing,” my pastor once said when I’d volunteered to be in a program at church.

Okay, I get it. I can’t sing.

But I love to sing. I can’t help myself. Everything from folk tunes to the latest hit. I know all the words. But I just can’t sing them out loud. Not if anyone is listening. I won’t even sing out loud if the windows are open and I think my neighbors might hear me.

The dogs are not so lucky. I sing for them all the time. I’ll launch into “Oklahoma!” while I wash dishes or “Yesterday” while I brush my hair.

The pups would probably report me to the animal welfare league if they could.

It’s one of the many benefits of living alone. I can sing anytime. And I do. At the top of my lungs, which, as my third-grade teacher could attest, is very loud.

I grab the 409 and some rags. I’m going to clean the heck out of the bathroom.

And the dogs, poor creatures, will just have to suffer.

© Susan Luzader 2022