I was slapping my forehead while the kitchen radio (you always gotta have one there) blared this one over the half-unpacked groceries.
If you want to know why I am what I am, and why I feel what I feel, listen. Just replace "every Sha-la-la-la/every Wo-o-wo-o" with "Hey now, woo! Look at that!"
Lookin' back on how it was
In years gone by
And the good times that I had
Makes today seem rather sad
So much has changed.
Or, in a word: Never Over Stuff That Always Leaves Great Attachment.
Of course, I can't even go into how embedded her voice is in my neural grooves, how it makes me feel like I am two or three or four, and being lovingly mothered, I am safe, I am home, I am clothed head to toe in polyester and all is well with the world. That cig smoke-tinged, beige, everyone shaggy, green grass and metal playthings, Ore Ida and Sesame Street world.
It can even make me cry.
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