opera therapy...

Not sure why I started singing really. Not that big a deal maintaining the flow between the sink and the dishwasher and the cabinets. Doesn't make me perspire. Doesn't make me strain aging muscles or summon what brains I have. It just never ends. And there are only two of us. Anyway, we got home from church and before sitting down I mustered up a smidgen of discipline (forced by the expected arrival of a few people John and Sha were bringing over to swim) and began "the routine". Clean dishes away. Dirty ones loaded. Which at last brings me to the singing. And the therapy. 

I began singing in silliness something to the effect of, "how glad I am to be the only one gifted enough to load the dishwasher..." It immediately evoked an equally silly response from the husband laying on the sofa. "if you want I could swap you for the mowing of the lawn and the cleaning of the pool.." What unfolded was quite the gripe session disguised as a comic operetta. Ten minutes this went on. By the time we finished our melodic venting we were both laughing so hard we couldn't stop.  The funniest response was Kevin's but I am unable to share it here. Let's just say he brought the house down :) We're both thinking seriously about writing a book. Or at least a singing seminar or two...