Bud is not always a fan of my singing. It's true that when he needs a partner for a duet, I'm usually his first choice (you should hear us do Keith Urban's "I Told You So," with me on lead vocals and Bud singing the part of every instrument in the band), but he often objects when I sing along with the radio or hum out loud as I putter around the house.
"Mama," he'll say to me. "Just listen."
Or - my favorite - "Don't sing, Mama. Just burp."
This morning I walked into the kitchen, quietly singing "oh feeder monkey size" to myself, and Bud burst in from the other room.
"No. Just quiet please, Mama," he said.
"You know, Bud," I said, in my ongoing effort to lobby for just a tad more air time, "When I was in the eighth grade, I was actually chosen for the glee club."
"What?" he asked.
"When I was younger, I was such a good singer that they picked me to be in a very special singing group at school."
"And now," he replied matter-of-factly, "You can't sing at all."