21 June 2008

Tiny dancer

Scene: driving home from the local Mexican restaurant. It is 102F.

The Angels game is over. They beat Philadelphia. RAH! It's always fun when AL teams visit NL parks and play NL rules.

I start punching radio buttons, looking for music. Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" is on KLOS. One of those songs they never played in our little desert town, one I still like to hear. I close my eyes and listen, remembering hot summer nights, a long, long time ago.

The son, from the backseat, who is clutching his copy of The Zombie Survial Guide: "Mom! Can I read you this?"

Me, eyes still closed: "No."

The son begins reading aloud.

I turn up the music.

The son reads more loudly.

I turn up the music.

The son increases his own volume.

I turn up the music.

The son is now shouting as he reads aloud.

I turn up the music so loud that my Camry begins vibrating on the road. The spouse is laughing out loud at this war of escalation while trying to navigate Friday evening traffic.

The son is trying mightily to beat out the music.

I start singing, though it more closely resembles screaming with a little melody.

From the backseat, twinned voices of outrage: "MOM!"

I keep singing. I am laughing so hard that I am crying.

Go listen to some good music: "Tiny Dancer" from the album Madman Across the Water by Elton John.

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