Last night I was at my parents' house for a few hours while my Dad tried to fix my windshield wipers, which have not been wiping. At all.
So we're watching American Idol and I'm helping my mom fold laundry. I'm giving her updates on each of the performers. ("He's got his brother in the crowd." Or "They barely showed him at all before this, so he'll never make it through." "Man, I hope Brenna gets cut.") She doesn't like Simon very much, but she is mildly amused by the show.
And then gray-haired Taylor Hicks comes on.
"Oh Mom, listen to him. I like this guy," I said. "He sings really well and is really passionate about it and he just reminds me of the sweetest of the good ol' Southern boys I know."
"You like him?" Her ears perked up.
"Yeah, listen to him. He sings differently. Listen to him sing with that great strong voice with a bit of understated rasp. Not to mention, he seems cool. I could have a beer with him and he can play the harmonica."
"How old is he? He's got gray hair!"
"Um, late 20s? I don't know, he's older than I am."
"Well, is he single?"
"What? How would I know that?"
"Well, I mean, is he? You know other things about other people. So, you should know if he is single. You seem to be really into him."
Ah yes, my mother is trying to set me up with male semi-finalists from American Idol now. She has given up on random young men she sees at work, various sons and grandsons of people she knows and the occasional cute waiter or guy on the street. Poor mom. She just wants me to get married so very, very much.
Sigh.
So, call me, Taylor. A nice Southern boy like you would make my momma one very happy lady and my daddy a proud poppa.
