To people who don’t know us well, Nordic Boy and I would most likely be described as quiet people. Definitely not shy people. Just quiet. Both in terms of quantity of words and in terms of volume. I’m not saying we are low-talkers or anything, but we just aren’t the people at a party that everyone is gathered around because we won’t shut the hell up. You know those people. The ones that command attention because, well, other people can hardly get a word in. We are SO not those people. In fact, those people usually kind of repel us, not because we don’t like them, just because we can hear them from across the goddamn room so why go over and say hello?
Here’s the secret about us though. In our house, on our own time, we are loud. We talk all kinds of gibberish to each other and to ourselves in what can only be called double diaherria of the mouth, and one of the ways that the gibberish comes out is in song. Within the walls of our house, we are living like we are in a Rodgers and Hammerstein production. Like, right now, this very minute? Nordic Boy is in the kitchen tossing a salad, and while he does it this is what he’s belting:
One day! Love will find yoooo
Break those! Chains that bind yooo
One night! Will ree-mind you
How we touched and went our sep-rit ways!
The damn salad. Breaking his heart like that.
The other thing that often happens is that one of us will start a song, and the other one will join in, or finish it, or sing back-up. Again, just now, he thought he was done singing, but no. I had to continue.
If he! Evah hurts yooo
True love! Won’t desert chooo
You know! Ah still love yooo
Though we touched and went our sep-rit ways!
Nordic Boy answers with a Steve Perry worthy OHHHHHHHHHH!
And then we stop. I am still typing in the living room, he is still salading in the kitchen. No need to discuss the outburst, just continue with the evening like nothing happened.
Sometimes, the songs we sing are made up. Often to the tune of another song, but with our own words plugged in. A few days ago, I bought a new pair of jeans.
Nordic Boy: Hey, are those jeans new?
Me: (To the tune of “I Touch Myself” by the DiVinyls, accompanied by a vampy walk around the house)
I love my jeans
I want you to love them
When they fall down
They’re still so lo-ovely
I searched for them
They came to find me
Don’t forget to zip
Oops they’re button-fly-eee
What does he do with this display? Why, he replies.
I don’t want, any other pair!
When I think ab-owwt them
It’s just not fair!
Listen. We’re not lyricists. We just have a song in our heart that must fly free.
We are also big fans of singing in a pseudo-operatic style. Sometimes, we sing to each other in this way with no real tune. Just as if our conversation is coming out as an opera.
Nordic Boy: Helloooo, helloooo, how are yooooooo?
Me: Ahhhh am fiiiiiiine. A leeetle tiiiiired!
Nordic Boy: Figaro!
Me: Indeeeed! Figaaaaaroooooh!
We also like to sing pop songs in an opera-style. We have brought this to a fine art. There are only certain pop songs that translate well to opera. 70s rock often works well. R&B ballads tend to work too. Try it. It’s fun. Just sing bad opera, and really over-enunciate everything.
“So give me that toot toot
Let me give you that beep beep
Running her hands through my ‘fro
Bouncing on twenty fours…”
Take that, Il Divo. We had this idea long before you. We could have made millions with it. Except for the fact that we would never, ever take this behavior out into the public, for other non-us people to know about.
Except I kind of just did, didn’t I? The cat’s out of the bag now. Simon Cowell, come discover us.
Kiss the rings, I’m out.