Weirdo

We've been listening to i-Tunes radio these days. It's Christmas music or bust, baby. We need the extra cheer around here. I'll admit that I've even been working out to it. (Strange-but-true fact: working out to the Hallelujah Chorus almost made me cry today, in a good way).

But I digress.

G came into my bedroom this afternoon and that old, weird version of I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus came on the radio. The one where the woman is trying to sound like a little kid, but instead sounds like she's been at the helium pump again. Anyway, G's head snapped to attention and she was clearly disturbed.

G: Mom, what...is that? Is that a castrato?

(Another strange-but-true fact: G is deathly afraid of medieval men who have been castrated so that they sing soprano...)

Me (suppressing laughter unsuccessfully): No, sweetie. That's a woman trying to sound like a little kid.

G: Well, you know something? That doesn't sound like a little kid, Mom. That lady sounds like a weirdo.

And there you have it. That girl calls it as she sees it, folks.