As previously ascertained, baba thinks he procured a complete lunatic in me.

I have not done anything to dissuade him of this particular perspective as I don’t see it at all beneficial that he see me as ‘normal’, because sooner or later, I will behave in a manner that falls outside the preordained borders of that very definition.

We are all, to some degree, morons and I tend to trip into that particular category more than most.

Last night, while preparing today’s lunch, I started to sing. By no stretch of the imagination am I well equipped to perform this strenuous exercise, but in the privacy of my own home / car, I like to sing at a relative whisper. I also dance while singing, because I’m not performing operatic overtures and if I were, I would likely break things down a little interpretively because that’s crazy fun when you’re alone and pretend to be a professional interpretive dancer dancing for your own captive audience. Not that I know anything about that.

While baba was a few feet away from me, I quietly sang the lines: “Shake it shake it shake it shake it shake it like a Hollywood preacher shake it”, and because it’s what I do: I was smiling (what’s there to frown about, anyway?). I was likely also shaking my a** just like the Hollywood preacher because I enjoy practicing what I preach. (Wicked pun, there.)

When I looked up, baba had stopped paying attention to his email and was staring at me (because I’m nicer to look at, anyway). He queried: “What are you doing?”
“I’m singing.”
“Singing?”
“Shake it!”
“Stop it.”
“Come on, baba…shake it! Shake it! Shake it!”
“MAHA!”
…and here I started shaking my head like a wild cat because I dare you to sing the above lines without eventually needing to shake your head like a wild cat.

Baba kept staring at me and when I offered “Would you prefer if I sang Nights In White Satin because you’re old, baba?” he turned on some really loud Oum Kulthum, an old school Middle Eastern diva who used to always sing with a handkerchief in her hand. She was too “proper” to shake her a** in public, so here’s to hoping she did so in private.

Offended, I gawked at him disbelieving that he would rather listen to a Diva from ago when he had his offspring performing before him. I prodded “You used to love it when up until last year I was a child and I would do my dance routine to Lionel Richie’s All Night Long (Fiesta! Forever!), so what’s changed?”. He ignored me and so I stood using my brain power to send him this very question as loudly as possible, trying to mind-control him into turning down Oum Kulthum so that I may continue my performance. Only he did not and I was sad.

Until this morning when I held court as I took sips of my coffee and sang:
Shawty had them Apple Bottom Jeans [Jeans]
Boots with the fur [With the fur]
the whole club lookin at her
She hit the floor [She hit the floor]
Next thing you know
Shawty got low low low low low low low low…

He looked at me. Shook his head. Jumped straight into the air, spun his feet at lightening speed, generated a whole lot of dust and then zoomed off the balcony and directly into his car.

I’ve already sent him an email detailing this evening’s performance whereby I shall provide a taste of old school Tori Amos. As I don’t have a piano bench, I shall use a stool for prop. I have no doubt he’s as excited as I am!