I look in the rear view mirror at Dar's friend who is singing loud and with her head thrown back like she's sittin around the campfire. Lyrics aside, she reminded me of girls who sang along loudly, without reservation and with an english accent, from when I was 11. I secretly hated them and thought they were cool. I looked at Dar to see what she was thinking. She didn't seem to be paying attention.
I like the way you touch me there. I like the way you pull my hair.
Me: All right that's enough. I cleared my throat and turned it off
Dar: Mom, M- was singing that.
Me: Sorry that's just too sexual for this time of day (then in my head I said What. the. hell? to myself)
We drove along in complete silence until we got to school.
Sometimes it's funny. I can appreciate that. It's so extreme that it becomes ridiculous.
But I don't think you need to have a dirty mind to hear Rhianna sing I like the way you pull my hair and think of two specific images, one of which was released by the LA Police department.
Buzz-kill. Sorry.
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