And the chorus, one more time!

All afternoon and evening I've had a song stuck in my head. It's really bad when that happens. It's even worse when the song is really bad.

This morning, after cleaning the cat litter box, I put the trash in the rear hatch of my car, intending to drop it off at the dumpster on my way out of the complex. Unfortunately, something must have distracted me because I didn't make the stop. I didn't realize it until after work, when I got into my car to run errands. I blame the toxic fumes for encouraging that stupid song to repeat over and over in my head. The song? "He's a Garbage Man," a (mercifully) short-lived favorite family ditty.

For some strange reason, my children had very odd career goals when they were little. My youngest wanted to grow up to be a cow. My son's dream was to be a garbage man. Since I was a very good mother who loved (and loves) her children dearly, I supported his ambition by allowing him to take out the trash everyday and by encouraging him to study personal hygiene methodology that would help him get along in the real world should his dream come true. Why, I even went the extra mile and made up a special theme song to show him how wonderful his life could be. His sisters took great delight in singing this song to him over and over again -- which I'm sure had nothing to do with his announcement that instead of a garbage man he wanted to be a policeman with a gun.

He's a Garbage Man
(sung to the tune of Frere Jacques*)

He's a garbage man, a very happy garbage man.
He's a garbage man, and he loves his job.
He can ride the great big truck,
And he makes a great big clang when he bangs the garbage cans.
He's a garbage man, a very happy garbage man.
He's a garbage man, and he loves his job.


*I know that the meter is somewhat forced. Okay, it's outright tortured. And the rhymes are horrible. But the intended audience loved it. At least for the first fifty times, anyway...