Today, while I was baking a cake, I was being serenaded by none other than Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme, Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, Michael Buble and Ray Charles, to name a few of the greats. I can't fathom why a girl who gags at form of cheesy, romantic gestures or the very mention of chick flicks suddenly turns into a great gelatinous mass every time she hears 'Georgia on my Mind' or 'Stardust'. I swear, I don't know what I'm going to do if I'm suddenly in a situation with a member of the opposite sex, sitting alone in a room, and he decides to put on one of the classic love ballads of the 40's...or worse, he has a voice of an angel and he starts singing to me!
A) I'll either pass out completely because they're fully aware of and adore the great men from the 40's.
B) Wet my pants then and there or have an aneurysm and die right on the spot
C) or the worse-I would lose control of all my senses completely and lay a big wet one right on their sweet angel lips.
So pretty much, I'm sunk. This is probably precisely why I wasn't born during the age of swing, sweet love ballads and jazz. I'd go crazy and probably get arrested for assaulting a beautiful beau with a nice set of pipes. God must have known in the pre-existence that I look awful in orange.
Anyway, wish me luck with staying out of said situation. Hopefully my saying so won't create a monster and mutate into some cruel joke where every attractive and unattractive man in cedar city lines up outside my door and plays a sappy song in hopes of stealing a smooch or two. I guess i'll just have to have a permanent pair of earplugs or a can of mace handy whenever I choose to leave my house. Well kids, it sounds like an adventure. Until we meet again, Enjoy life, sappy love songs, make-believe, chocolate chip cookies, fresh winter air and the sunshine. :) Peace!
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