Shot in the dark

Zoe has been mumbling a song for a few days now... well, closer to a week. Or more. With the singing acumen bestowed to her by my side of the family, it seems more like an eternity.

One time when I was a kid, I tape-recorded my mom while she was in the attic sewing. She had headphones on and was probably belting out a Billy Joel tune, I don't even remember. When I played it back for her, she laughed... the tape recorder was the first big gift I remember getting from my parents. Well, that and the banana seat bike, I don't remember which came first.

Anyway, Mom laughed at the recording I made of her singing Barry Manilow or whatever it was that I caught her sewing to... and I think later that evening, I played it for my dad, or someone who was in the house. I have no recollection of who the audience was, but I remember my mom leaping across living room furniture and practically falling down, and not only did she shut off the tape recorder, but she ripped out the tape and ripped out its innards and splayed ribbons of magnetic tape in a brown shiny heap on the floor.

That's how well we sing. We're not proud.

So I finally picked up on what Zoe was trying to sing, and I can't remember what it was she was trying to say as far as the words went, but they were way off, so way off and I didn't have embarrassment to spare for her, so on the way home from work tonight, I took great pains to correct her.

"ZOE. YOU CANNOT sing it that way."

And I proceeded to tell her the lyrics:

Shot through the heart,
And you're to blame.
You give love
A bad name.

In the seven minutes it took to get home, she had it largely manageable:

Shot through the heart,
And you're too late.
You get love
A Band-Aid.

Good enough.