Angel of Music

I had a post for you.
It was about the time, last week, when my husband took me on a frozen yogurt run, and I had Phantom of the Opera on in the car.
I told him I would totally be screeching singing if he weren't in the car with me.
And then he told me to go for it and then for whatever reason I cranked the music up so loud it was nearly painful. And then I added more pain to the mix by singing.
And then, in my post, I went on to tell you how he hit a bump in the road (which coincided nicely with me slaughtering Christine's plea for the Angel of Music to hide no longer) and that I told him his bad drving messed up my vibrado.

It was hilarious.
To me.
But the post was lame.
So I deleted it.
And was bummed that I wasted 32 minutes at the computer with nothing to show for it.
So I clicked this bit out for you.

My apologies.
My writing is nearly as bad as my singing.


No it isn't.
But my dancing is....