Every time I get into my husband’s car, I’m confronted with 90’s death metal.
AND IT’S BLARING.
Is he angry?
Is he mad at the world? At me? At the writers of Bob the Builder – whose story lines have taken over our lives?
When Todd leaves the house smiling – is it just a front?
Or is he smiling because he knows he’s about to escape from the madness. To drive away in his scream-wagon.
I get it.
There are times when I just wanna get away too.
The 5 minute drive to the grocery store – alone. Just me and Waka Flocka.
Like I’m not driving a 2001 Camry with a baby seat in the back.
I admit it. On occasion, I enjoy a little hardcore Gangsta Rap.
Maybe there’s something wrong with a mommy in her twinset shouting lyrics purporting urban injustice and the violent lifestyles of inner-city youths.
Most of the time I live a contented, provincial existence and my music choices reflect that.
Upbeat and cheery. With lyrics about rocking chairs and sweet tea.
So I was pleasantly surprised when I got into Todd’s car last week, and Michael Buble was playing.
Must be a fluke.
But the next time we all got in – Aerosmith.
Then No Doubt. Nora Jones. Green Day. Nickelback. John Mayer.
One great song after the next!
(The aliens have kidnapped my husband and replaced him with Mr. Rogers, I thought.)
“Wow, I LOVE this station!” I said. “What is it?”
“It’s Magic,” Todd said smiling. “Magic 94.9.”
And then it occurred to me.
We were listening… to the easy listening station. And loving it.
That’s when you know you’re REALLY not cool anymore.
When you’re favorite stations are “warm” or “magical” or “breezy.”
Because your hearing is going, and you just need something a little…easier.
As a teenager, I remember getting into the car with my mother – this same station playing.
I also remember thinking…
Ughhhhhhhhhhh. BOR-ING. HOW FREAKING LAME, Mom.
And now, Magic 94.9 is preset number one in my car.
And it’s like number four in my husband’s! (Who I’m sure never pictured himself singing along with his wife to Tracy Chapman’s “Gimme One Reason.”)
And yet, here we are.
Karma, you cruel bitch.
I still enjoy a good hip hop track now and then. And Todd still finds solace in Metallica.
But we’ve accepted our fate.
And it sounds….easy.