Bestill my beating heart. Becca, in that tunnel vision, narrow focus, pinpoint laser beam of attention that 14 year old girls have, is currently totally enraptured of her youth group and Top 40s country music. (She is also absolutely physically addicted to the Twilight vampire series of books, but the irony of this seems to be lost on her).
Anyway, she just loves the weepy sounds of songs such as "Jesus Take the Wheel" (no, I'm not kidding") and the uber-tragic, two-hanky "Whiskey Lullaby".
Instead of shoving a knitting needle into my eardrum until all I hear is the hissing of air escaping, I just ask her to please turn it down. I'm afraid the neighbors will hear & if there's ever an apocalypse, I just KNOW country-music fans will be the first to be eaten when food runs out.
While every day with Becca is a holy-rollin', sh*t-kickin' time, today was even MORE so.
She's bigger than me, so getting the tv remote from her is something I gave up on long ago and she pretty much rules what's on tv. Normally, I can tune it out, with a combination of ear plugs & vodka, but this afternoon, I felt a great disturbance in the force. As though a million voices cried out, and were suddenly silenced...only to be replaced with yodeling and twangy guitars.
Turns out Becca had the TV tuned to the Great American Country Gospel Hour and when I realized that what I was hearing was NOT a million voices crying out in fear, but 27 D-list country singers sitting in a big circle around a fake fire, taking turns singing gospel "hits", my brain literally imploded. Ker-splat.
I scooped up what was left of my frontal lobe and wandered away from the horror, wondering if the parents who are raising my real child ever wonder why their coon dogs & their prissy daughter just don't get along.