Channeling My Inner Rastafarian

Sometimes, I like to get out and run errands all by myself.  No kids, no Shaun, no one else.  There's something about being able to linger in the housewares aisle in Target or picking my favorite music of the day and blasting it in the car without having to worry about little ears or competing tastes that give me a little sanity, particularly at the end of a loooong day.

The other night, we put C to bed, and I headed out to Wal-Mart and the grocery store to get a few items that we definitely needed before the morning.  On the way, I popped in a Bob Marley CD and cranked the volume.

There's an interesting fact about me and Bob.  I don't know all his lyrics.  I can sing the chorus of almost every song, but the lyrics?  They kinda get lost.  So I resort to this weird little beat boxing, mumbling mess of words.  At top volume.

So, I'm rocking out, (jammin' out?) and pull up at a stop light where I vaguely notice the guy in the car next to me chuckling while looking in my direction.  Not surprising, since I'm singing at the top of my lungs and doing some weird dance/headbanging thing.

I smiled and waved and continued my musical experience.

(I'm kind of hard to embarass).

I get to Wal-Mart and open my door to hop out into the cold and run to the store.

And I'm still singing at top volume.

"Jammin', Jammin', JAMMIN'!  We're JAMMIN' in the NAME OF THE LORD!"

I finish gathering my wallet and step fully out of the car, still singing. 

And at that moment, I noticed that there was a gentleman waiting patiently for me to close my door so he could get into the passenger side of his car. 

And he was laughing at me.  A lot. 

I cut off mid "Jammin'", squeaked a bit, and bolted for the door as fast as my 17 week pregnant self could go. 

I have an embarassment threshold, and I think?  I think it was hurdled over.

(But don't think it'll stop my in-car "Jammin'" sessions.  No way!)