Can't Touch This

I like singing.  I tend to sing a lot when I'm at home.  Just bursts of songs as I remember the lyrics, or as the tune pops into my head.  I have listened to a lot of music through doing jobs in various factories, where the radio was constantly on, and somehow most of it seems to have buried itself deep within my brain and will come bursting out, sometimes at very inopportune moments.  Moments of great solemnity can be spoiled by my subconscious suddenly deciding that all I want to do is belt out the chorus to a Beatles track, or something worse.  It hasn't happened yet but my constant fear is that I am going to have a desperate desire to sing 'Barbie Girl' by Aqua whilst in a public place.  If you don't know it you are one of the lucky ones.  A terrible piece of pop featuring the ludicrous line, "Life in Plastic, It's Fantastic."  At least you can't complain about it not rhyming.

This evening my song of choice was 'Can't Touch this' by MC Hammer.  Not a song I like especially, or would recommend to anyone, but the song that bubbled to the top of the pile during tea.  Of course, being at home, with only my wife and N for company, I went for it.  Also of course, it's the sort of tune that demands a dance routine.  So there I was hurling myself around the kitchen whilst the girls sat at the table watching me.  Until the little Buglet decided that she wanted to weigh in on my singing. 

I have already commented on her love of music, and we often have a laugh with me singing and dancing away and her trying to copy my moves.  She's got rhythm, but her balance leaves something to be desired.  She can occasionally resemble Gabrielle Anderson running the last few hundred metres of the frst ever Olympic women's marathon (if you haven't seen it just have a peek at this video.  (Skip through to about the minute mark to get to the actual race footage.)   It would be funny if it wasn't such an epic achievement, I think I would probably look like that roughly a mile into any marathon I tried to run.)

Back to this evening.

Me: Can't touch this *accompanied by some chicken dance which will never be seen in public no matter how much you all ask*
N: Daddy noisy

Only two words, but so crushing.  There goes any dream I may have had to take my talents and go professional.  "Noisy" is not really the critique you are looking for when you showcase your abilities in front of your 20 month old daughter.  At this point my wife burst out laughing and tried to encourage her to say it again while I slunk away into the darker recesses of the kitchen in order to hide the shame. 

Incidentally, this was the same mealtime that had included my wife pouring half a bottle of soy sauce onto her dinner by mistake, and me stuffing a wrap so full that as I took my first bite most of it fell out onto my plate.  A fairly typical mealtime then, except for the part where I learnt that my daughter doesn't like rap, or at least my rendition of it.  Good job I haven't quit my day job then.