Sometimes I go to Curves. Like today, I'm going to insist to myself that I go.
Anyway, the music to which we move and jiggle and stretch just now is Christmas music . . . with a beat, of course, to help us keep a certain aerobic pace, you know. Some of it I find offensive, trivializing what to me is sacred. But there you go. Are you with me?
The other day We Three Kings of Orient Are was playing, and, speaking of trivializing, I sang the following words, somewhat under my breath, as I stretched:
We three kings of orient are
Tried to smoke a rubber cigar.
It was loaded.
It exploded,
Blowing us all afar.
Oh . . .
The owner of the Curves was close by and listening, apparently, and said she had never heard those words.
Really? I thought. Is she too young? In her late 40s or early 50s. Or is it that she comes from small town New York? Whatever.
We used to sing those words when we were kids, not all the time, of course, but sometimes. I know Wayne sang them. I know my brother Sterling sang them. And you?
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