Yesterday as I was driving the 30 minutes it takes to get to the grocery store, I heard a new country song. You see, the only time I listen to the radio is when I’m driving, which probably isn’t the best time since all of the kids are usually with me. This is why L~ know all the words to that Taylor Swift song “Picture to Burn” or whatever it’s called (L~ is my only child who really pays attention to the songs on the radio).
Anyway, probably not the best song for an almost nine-year-old girl to be taking to heart. At least it’s not as bad as when she was three and knew every single last word to “Killing Earl”. I was never so grateful for her shyness as I was when she was in love with that song. I feared that one Sunday she would go to primary and, while all the other kids were sweetly singing “I Am a Child of God,” she would stand on a chair and start belting about hiding bruises under long sleeves and stuffing a dead man into the trunk of a car.
Thank goodness Midge doesn’t pay that much attention to the radio.
So, the new song. I don’t know who sings it (surprise!), and maybe it’s only new to me, but I’m guessing the title is “Tangled Up In Your Love” because that is what the guy kept singing over, and over and over.
Towards the end, however, he decided to shake things up a bit and went through a litany of things in which he was tangled:
Tangled up in your bed,
Tangled up in your sheets,
Tangled up in your hair . . .
At this point I was holding my breath, fearing the onslaught of garbled lyrics about being tangled up in her cooler, but . . . phew.
No. He was just “tangled up in your love.” Again.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt isn’t tangled up in anything, thank goodness.