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What's the World Cup compared to being a lead singer?
Submitted by Ellen Wallace on June 9, 2006 - 10:22.
My husband came home with shocking news: he is about to become the lead singer in a band. Tomorrow.
This could change my life, so forget about the World Cup. You think you know the people you love, and then you suddenly have to adjust your image of them. I thought I was married to a nice British economics teacher who is interested in developing economies. He tells jokes reasonably well, he can bellow across a rugby pitch and be heard, and he's a nice guy.
Now I see that I might have to fight groupies, learn to dress differently, pay attention to his singing. In short, adjust.
Clearly, I never took his singing seriously enough, although there were hints I should have picked up. A few years ago I tried to describe my husband to a new neighbor with the usual descriptive stuff: tall, blond, bearded. She looked blank and then the light dawned.
"Oh, he always sings in the street!"
Well, yes. I keep a few feet back or ahead.
And then there was Christmas in Paris one year where we had a fine meal, fine wine and a bit more wine. He rolled along the quaisides singing hearty renditions of carols from many countries (he's always been good at remembering lyrics).
"You're out of tune!" shouted one unfriendly Parisian.
Our son learned to kick to Janis Joplin's "Bobbie McGee" which his father sang to the baby in the bathtub. Every time.
So, who knows where this opportunity for fame and fortune will lead us? You can hear it (unfortunately, I won't be there, a -um- prior engagement, you know) at the fundraising kermesse (fair) held by La Chataigneraie, which is part of the International School of Geneva. It's in Founex tomorrow, Saturday, starting at 10. My husband is hoping to at least be offered food by his new fans, since the international culinary treats on offer there have long been one of its claims to fame.
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My husband came home with shocking news: he is about to become the lead singer in a band. Tomorrow.
This could change my life, so forget about the World Cup. You think you know the people you love, and then you suddenly have to adjust your image of them. I thought I was married to a nice British economics teacher who is interested in developing economies. He tells jokes reasonably well, he can bellow across a rugby pitch and be heard, and he's a nice guy.
Now I see that I might have to fight groupies, learn to dress differently, pay attention to his singing. In short, adjust.
Clearly, I never took his singing seriously enough, although there were hints I should have picked up. A few years ago I tried to describe my husband to a new neighbor with the usual descriptive stuff: tall, blond, bearded. She looked blank and then the light dawned. "Oh, he always sings in the street!" Well, yes. I keep a few feet back or ahead.
And then there was Christmas in Paris one year where we had a fine meal, fine wine and a bit more wine. He rolled along the quaisides singing hearty renditions of carols from many countries (he's always been good at remembering lyrics). "You're out of tune!" shouted one unfriendly Parisian.
Our son learned to kick to Janis Joplin's "Bobbie McGee" which his father sang to the baby in the bathtub. Every time.
So, who knows where this opportunity for fame and fortune will lead us? You can hear it (unfortunately, I won't be there, a -um- prior engagement, you know) at the fundraising kermesse (fair) held by La Chataigneraie, which is part of the International School of Geneva. It's in Founex tomorrow, Saturday, starting at 10. My husband is hoping to at least be offered food by his new fans, since the international culinary treats on offer there have long been one of its claims to fame.