Ever have a song that won't leave your head no matter what you do? Unfortunately, the songs that come into our heads and refuse to exit are usually of the readily forgettable variety...
"See the tree how big it's grown..."
"I rode my bicycle past your window last night..."
"I rode my bicycle past your window last night..."
"I love the flower girl..."
I once heard a story of a guy who swam the English Channel who, when asked how he occupied his mind during the ordeal, replied that he sang the Gilligan's Island theme song in his head the whole time. Wow, seven hours of...
"...the millionaire...and his wife."
While coming home last night, the wife told me that she had been recycling a song in her head all day long. Knowing that I was going to hate myself for asking, I posed the query "which song?"
While coming home last night, the wife told me that she had been recycling a song in her head all day long. Knowing that I was going to hate myself for asking, I posed the query "which song?"
"Blame it on the bossa nova"
So, fueled by a wonderful dinner and several glasses of wine, we broke in to singing this 1963 Eydie Gorme song on the way home. Driving through the empty, rain-drenched streets of our little mountain town, we entertained our neighbors with an unforgettable version of the song in not-so-perfect two-part harmony.
Blame it on the bossa nova
with its magic spell.
with its magic spell.
Blame it on the bossa nova
that he did so well.
Oh, it all began with just one little dance
but then it ended up a big romance.
Blame it on the bossa nova
the dance of love.
I only wish that when we arrived home we had done an Internet search and found Ms. Gorme's phone number and called her at midnight to entertain her with our stirring rendition of her song. Alas, we were too tired, opting for the comfort of eight hours of slumber.
I only wish that when we arrived home we had done an Internet search and found Ms. Gorme's phone number and called her at midnight to entertain her with our stirring rendition of her song. Alas, we were too tired, opting for the comfort of eight hours of slumber.
I can imagine the conversations at this morning's breakfast tables around town.
"Marge, did you hear that ruckus at midnight last night?"
"Sure did. What a noise. I think it was the wailing sound of a raccoon that got run over by a car."
"Could be. Sounded to me more like two cats fighting."
Admittedly, we must have sounded pretty dreadful. It would do no constructive good to point fingers at our parents, music teachers, friends, etc. for our inability to pleasantly sing a song in tune. Saying that we were not born to musically-inclined families is also a wasted cop-out. Alas we must place the blame where blame is due.
"Sure did. What a noise. I think it was the wailing sound of a raccoon that got run over by a car."
"Could be. Sounded to me more like two cats fighting."
Admittedly, we must have sounded pretty dreadful. It would do no constructive good to point fingers at our parents, music teachers, friends, etc. for our inability to pleasantly sing a song in tune. Saying that we were not born to musically-inclined families is also a wasted cop-out. Alas we must place the blame where blame is due.
Blame it on the bossa nova.
Readers, enjoy your day.
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