Written with more than a little help from Mr. The Cheeky Diva~
My regular readers have heard me talk about what a handsome man my husband is. I have always thought he looks like Jim Carrey, and some people think he looks more like Tim Robbins. Both handsome men, I’m very lucky. My husband must have the Sean Connery gene~meaning that the older he gets, the better looking he becomes.
That being said, he’s also very sweet and romantical. He does many nice things for me on a daily basis, and I’m very grateful. He’s never written me a song, but if he came home one day and told me that he wrote a song about me that went something like this one,
He would look like Ernest Borgnine by the time I was finished with him.
And that’s exactly what I was thinking when I heard this song ONE MORE TIME on the car radio on the way home for lunch. If my husband wrote a song like this, I’d just have to beat the crap out of him.
I thought this song was kinda cute the first time I heard it. After hearing it 934 times on the radio in the last week or so, it makes me want to Van Gogh myself more each time, and I find myself agonizing over each sappy and painful line.
So, if Mr. The Cheeky came home one day and said ~
“Hey, dollface, I wrote a song about you. All about what an insecure fat lard you are, and that even though you don’t like yourself and you suffer from low self esteem, I think you’re perfect~ Oh, and that you’re weird because you drink tea and talk in your sleep. But I’m not going to tell anyone any of this stuff. I just plan to sell a gazillion copies of it!”
Am I wrong, or would that constitute a sound pummeling?
When Mr. The Cheeky came in the house for lunch, I told him that I heard “the song” on the radio again. He said. “I did too!” And we laughed. This song has become a running joke in our house. We are great pals, him and I, and we have no problem laughing about our faults. The other night, we were making up our own lyrics to this song, filling in the blanks with our own or the others little quirks, and laughing about it.
I told him about the beating he’d get if he ever wrote something like this, and told him I was going to blog about it. His eyes lit up, he put on his goofyiest lovey-dovey face and crooned:
I used a razor blade to connect the freckles on your face….you didn’t think it strange your skin started slipping out of place….
Buuuahahaaahaaa!!!!! I laughed so hard at that, I thought I was going to puke. Now that my friends, is what’s perfect to me.
*-For those of you who like this song, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend, but I just can’t take it. Please don’t be mad at me. To each his own, right?