If You Hear Me Singing, Just Ignore It

My car is not working (again). Something to do with the fuel pump and cylinders 3 and 4. And so, for those around-the-town errands, I borrow Lil' Sis' car. Not that I miss my car, as one set of wheels is pretty much the same as another, but I fiercely pine for a radio, a cd player, an iPod, or any music-making device that would fend off embarrassment.
I have a habit of singing to myself, often at the top of my lungs, when I am bored, when I wake up in the morning, and when I am sitting in a music-free vehicle. My repertoire includes a vast array of Disney songs, several church hymns, every Christmas carol known to man, and either the chorus or half of more than a few alternative rock songs. Usually, this innocuous habit exhibits itself in front of family or close friends. On rare occasions, it manifests itself in public.
Case in point: It was a warm day, and Lil' Sis' car has no air conditioning. Driving to the store, I had the window down, enjoying the cool air that poured in. I was in a good mood. I had an unexpected day off from work and the time to do whatever I wanted. (That I spent some of that time grocery shopping proves that had I been a hunter-gatherer in prehistoric times, I would put the welfare of my tribe above other activities, such as re-watching Lord of the Rings.) I meandered through Smith's Food and Drug, humming softly. I filled my cart - the one with the squeaky wheel that has my name written all over it - and headed to the checkout. I whistled "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Da" as I loaded the groceries into the back seat of the car. The whistling morphed into sort of half humming, half singing as I slid into the front seat. I clipped my seat belt, rolled down the window, and belted out the chorus.

"Zip-a-dee-doo-da! Zip-a-dee-ay! My, oh, my, what a wonderful day!" I backed out of the parking space and shifted into drive. "Plenty of sunshine, going my way! It's a jolly holiday with Mary!"

I shifted from Song of the South to Mary Poppins as smoothly as the car. I pulled out onto the street, swaying slightly from side to side, catching a glimpse of my face in the rear-view mirror. I looked happy and I'm sure I sounded happier.

I pulled to a stop at the red light and continued singing. "When the day is gray and ordinary, Mary makes the sun shine bright! Oooohhh! It's a jolly holiday with Mary! No wonder that it's Mary that we . . ."

I trailed off as I became aware of slow, exaggerated clapping. I glanced to my left and froze like my jolly holiday had been cut short by a shark attack.

A man in a blue Ford Explorer grinned openly. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Sing it, baby! Sing it loud!"

I know I blushed because I felt like I had been plunged face-first into a steam bath.

"Sing it!" He kept shouting. "Sing it like you love it!"

"I do love it," I muttered and rolled up the window.
I pretended to fiddle with the radio. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man continue to clap. I faced forward, determined to ignore unappreciative audiences everywhere, and continued singing.
The windows of a geo metro are not soundproof. I discovered this as a piercing whistle all but fractured the glass. I glanced sideways as Mr. Ford Explorer let loose another wolf-whistle. I sort of scrunched down in my seat, glaring at the traffic light, willing the red light to switch to green.
"I love Mary Poppins!" the guy shouted.
I cranked down the window. "So do I!" I yelled.
Unfortunately, the light changed and screaming at the back of someone's car doesn't have quite the same effect. The car behind me leaned on the horn and I pressed on the gas pedal, mood ruined. I muttered for about half a block before Walt Disney found me again - this time in the form of The Lion King.
"Oh, I just can't wait to be king!" I crowed, deciding to not care if the pedestrians objected.
We're getting a radio put in this weekend.