Patriotism and a Classy Lady

I love having the house alone to myself, and this is strictly because I have the house ALONE to MYSELF. I'm not one to throw huge parties when my parents leave, although they wish I did. An actual conversation we had recently:

Mom: "Ok, we're going! Tell all of your secret friends it's party time!"

Me: "Oh yeah, I've got tons of friends hiding in closets throughout the house just waiting for my cue. After you leave, they'll pop out and we'll have a big phat party fest."

Dad: "Oh, how I wish you were telling the truth."

My parents have a better social life than me.

Anyway, the point is that I like having the house all to myself. Know why? 'Cause I can sing as loudly as I stinkin' want to! And this is exactly what I do. I wander aimlessly around the house, busting out classics like To Love Somebody by the Bee Gees and I Heard it Through the Grapevine by Marvin Gaye.

There was one particular evening that I had the place to myself and was in the kitchen (great acoustics) singing the "National Anthem" at the tippy top of my lungs. I hit the high note in "for the la-and of the freeeEEEEEE!!!" and then broke out laughing hysterically because my voice sounded like the noise an ironing board makes every time you open it.

It was then that I turned away from the kitchen sink to the open window facing the front door. There was a BOY at the DOOR.

Our doorbell is broken, but we don't bother putting up a sign that says so, so people come to our front door and try to ring it regardless. We just definitely don't answer the door though. This is because we don't know they're there. As was the story at this particular moment. Clearly, the boy had rung the doorbell who knows how long ago and had been waiting patiently, a mere 12 feet away from me and my warbling wind pipes.

I squealed and ducked under the kitchen counter. I couldn't answer the door! But there was no way he didn't know I was indeed in the house. It would take a deaf person that lived in a different country not to hear me singing in the kitchen. It was at this moment that I had to come up with a plan that would involve me answering the door and not being humiliated by the attractive boy on the porch.

I crawled from the counter to the front door, not wanting him to possibly see me through the window. (Luckily, there was no evidence that he had been watching me, but the window was open and he had to have heard me.)

I stood up in front of the door and yelled, "Freaking Chanel! Stop with the singing already! Our great nation knows of your undying patriotism!" I then opened the door and did my best impression of a girl slightly exasperated with her sister. "Ha, sisters!" I said to the boy, as if it was the kind of problem he dealt with everyday--sisters that sing too loudly about America.

Nothing really happened after that. The boy was there to see my dad and since dad was gone, there was nothing left between the him and me. He left and I shut the door and then squealed really loudly and shook my hands because that's the only thing I can do to get pent up energy OUT of me.

Since then, I've watched my back before opening my mouth.