Liz has this thing for the vinyl record player. She constantly turns it on. Constantly. Drives me insane when I’m trying to work.
Today, she turned it on and somehow Barry Manilow (Or Barry Man-hole-cover as my brother and I used to call him when we were kids) came on. Aye yi yi. I’m now cursing my mother for giving us all of her albums.
It’s very troubling to me that I know every damn word to every damn song. Also troubling because I have some burning desire to find a couple of decks of cards and play canasta or kings on the corner.
Try living close to Shannon. Oye vey, with the Barry already. 😉
HAHAHA. Great story. It reminds me of when my grandmother did the same thing to my mother, only it was me turning it on and listening to Dolly Parton, Anne Margaret and who knows what else.