My buddy Chris was telling me yesterday about his neighbour who sings in the shower.  Needless to say, she will remain unnamed.  Her repertoire consists of “What’s Love Got To Do With It” by Tina Turner.  Done over and over – with somewhat improvised lyrics – and done badly.

Of course with the warmer weather, windows are open – and the freedom to express ourselves in privacy may be a little more public than we anticipate.

Over the course of the conversation, I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I sang in the shower.  I don’t know if that’s because I’m old enough to realize I really suck as a singer – or if I’m just old.

There is something so exuberant about someone singing to themselves.  Not like a Karaoke setup, where an alcohol fuelled lack of inhibition causes us to step up to the mike and belt out a bad rendition of a Journey tune (see Family Guy), but instead, just a genuine love of life and all it has to offer.

I don’t know when I lost that lack of inhibition, or gained better judgement… but I find the loss a little disturbing.

Humming Sweet Caroline quietly in the corner…  Dave