Jason has this thing, where if he wants to tease me in 10 seconds or less, he hums the theme to Love Story. And if you don't know Love Story, then get the hell out. I mean that. The ignorance of youth is no excuse. Lift those baggy jeans over the crack of your ass, and shuffle those heavily-branded sneakers right on out of this space. No room at the inn. Shoo.
Anyhow, the reason why Jason so successfully drives me crazy with this little piece of music history, is that I cannot for the life of me reproduce it myself. Whether hummed, or whistled, or mouthed in any other way, I warble out the first few bars, and from there it disintegrates into the Zales commercial. Damn my brain! This is apparently my kryptonite. That, and the fact that I can't spell kryptonite and I'm too obstinate to condescend to look it up. As far as Jason is concerned, my inability to hum the theme to Love Story is the only flaw I have (and yes, if you must know, he's right). I find it very aggravating to find that there is in fact something of this world that I cannot quite do, but especially aggravating is that my stupid husband can.
And it's not just the song from Love Story. Oh no. If he has the song filed away in his head, even parts of the song, he can hum it, and it will be perfectly recognizable to anyone. His ability is so astonishing that my mother introduces him as The Great Hummer. And she won't stop, cause she can't stop. And I am mad with jealousy, and Jason knows it. Jason milks it.
He hums all the time. He hums in the shower when I'm still too sleepy to punch him in the kidneys. He hums in the car, when I'm strapped safely in another seat. He hums when we're in bed at night and my hands are...er, well, otherwise occupied.
Now, when I started telling this story, I definitely had a point. And then I forgot it, but I kept writing because I believed that if I gave myself time, I would remember it. But I haven't.
Fuck the po-lice.