My daughter is four. She loves to sing. Loudly. She doesn’t always get the words right. Her favorite song, currently, is “Uptown Funk.” You know this one, right?
In case you don’t have an affinity for popular music, here.
The part of the song that my daughter really, REALLY loves to sing out loud is: “Uptown funk you up! Uptown funk you up!” Imagine how these lyrics translate into a four-year-old’s language. Ready?
“HO TOWN FUCK YOU UP! HO TOWN FUCK YOU UP!”
Yes. Yup. In the middle of a very crowded Trader Joe’s, Kerry Anne decided to sing her favorite song. But just that part. About six times in a row. Or, enough times to have at least ten people wondering what kind of mother allows her child to speak in such a way and should they call CPS?
I tried to play it off. As my face, and probably entire body, flamed up, I laughed nervously and said “That’s not what she’s saying. It’s a song. But it’s not those words. It’s by Mark Ronson, well, but Bruno Mars actually sings it, it’s on the radio all the time BUT NOT THOSE WORDS. She’s four. That’s not what she’s saying.”
Several people stared at me, and her, and back at me. They shook their heads. A little old lady actually “tsk tsk’d” me. And that was my breaking point. My baby is SANGIN! She loves this song. She’s getting the words wrong? What-fucking-ever.
“Sing out, Louise!”
I’ll fix you a cocktail if you get that reference.