When I was little, I used to sing everything. Not only did I make up original musicals with my friends, in which we would just make up words and tunes as we went along, I would also sing a play-by-play of what I was doing on a daily basis (my homework problems, my morning routine, how much time was left until my tater tots were finished browning in the toaster, etc.), much to my parents’ delight.
I distinctly remember driving with my dad on the highway, some time after I had learned to read, and singing all the signs we passed along the way— “Exit Seeeeeven…. Route One Oh Niiiiiiiiine… No U-turns heeeeeeere!!!!!” He told me to stop which was a terrible blow to my ego— Why oh why, wouldn’t my own father want to hear my beautiful voice singing highway signs for one hour straight??? The mind boggled.
Well, here I am watching Mazzy and Harlow take on a very similar path. I don’t know if “non-stop nonsensical singing” is genetic or if it’s just a “girl thing” but Mazzy and Harlow’s nightly duets of completely made-up music bring me all sorts of happiness. Mazzy puts meandering stories to song and Harlow sings gibberish in one big crescendo. It is fabulous and I am going to record that shit instead of telling them to shut up.
Mike, on the other hand, wanders around our apartment like he has stumbled into the Twilight Zone. He clearly has no frame of reference for what he is witnessing.
Newsflash to Mike: By the time you met me, I was working at a desk in an advertising agency. But before I understood a steady paycheck was a desirable thing, I wanted to be a BROADWAY STAR.
(BROADWAY STAR is in all caps because BROADWAY STAR can be in nothing less than all caps.)
Clearly, Mazzy and Harlow (emphasis on Harlow) are chasing the same dream.
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