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.

Dangers of Driving with Poochie

I have heard horrible stories about what happens when you let your dog hang his/her head out of the window. There's the cocker spaniel that was snatched right out of the window by a golden eagle. Or the doberman pinscher who was smeared across the side of its owner's mini cooper by a passing bus. The Labrador retriever whose ear drums exploded due to the air pressure at 70 mph. A Boston terrier jumped out of the car and fell ninety feet to a raging river. And my favorite (because no death or injury is involved), the border collie who passed a field of sheep, forced its owner to pull over, and refused to leave without herding at least three sheep into the back of the truck. I've heard all these and more, and yet I still allow Poochie to stick her head out the window as we cruise 4100 south. (Don't worry, if I ever accelerate to more than 40 mph, I roll up the window and Poochie must deal with it.)
And now I have a new tale of caution to add. If you let your dog hang his/her head out the window while you are driving, you could crash and die.
It happened like this: Last Thursday, after dropping my car off at the repair shop, I slipped into the front seat of Lil' Sis's car with Poochie in the back seat. I wrenched my arm backward and rolled down the window halfway to allow Poochie to bask in all the sights and smells. Duty accomplished, I stretched out as much as one can in a Geo Metro, and began whining to Lil' Sis about car problems.
The sudden whirlwind of angry barking caught me by surprise. I twisted around and saw Poochie snarling and snapping, turning in tight circles on the back seat. I watched for a moment, then saw a small, flying object.
"Must be a bee in the car," I commented to Lil' Sis, who, I must say, seemed remarkably calm for a person with a growling dog right behind her.
"I think it's a wasp," she replied.
Then it flew into the front seat and out the driver's side window.
Poochie followed.
"Get her off!" Lil' Sis snapped as sixty nine pounds of black fur dove into her lap.
I made a hasty grab and managed to wrench Poochie onto my lap. This, of course, gave Lil' Sis a face-ful of swishing tail.
My stomach dropped to my feet as the car swerved into oncoming traffic. At least, I think it was oncoming traffic. I couldn't see anything but Poochie's neck.
"Back seat!" Lil Sis growled. "Back seat!"
Poochie huffed, sat down on my thighs, and stuck her head out of my window. Her front paws sought purchase in my stomach, allowing me nothing more than a groan.
"Get in the back seat!" Lil Sis yelled, tugging on Poochie's tail.
It is very, very difficult to force a dog to do an about-face in the front seat of a Geo Metro. Especially if 1) the dog doesn't want to and 2) the dog weighs over fifty pounds.
I think we hit the curb at one point, but we did manage to get Poochie into the back seat. She shook her head, her ears whipping back and forth, and immediately stuck her head out the window.
"Stung," Lil' Sis said.
You'd think that after two decades of living with her, I would get used to her cryptic remarks.
"What?"
"Her ear. The wasp stung her ear."
"Oh." I glanced back at Poochie. "I'll check when we get home."
She looked happy enough with her tongue lolling out of her mouth and her ears flapping in the wind. Every once in a while she would give her head a violent shake.
"We could have died!" I exclaimed.
Lil' Sis shrugged. "Yeah. You go to work today?"
And the subject was closed.
But, beware, dog owners: if you let your dog hang its head out the window, it could be stung in the ear by a wasp, erupt in a furious frenzy, and run you off the road.