I'm drowning in deadline and distracted at home, so I got up, swam, did errands, and now I'm at a sandwich shop working because people won't like it if I buttonhole them to chat about whatever's in my head. (Not that people are enjoying that at home lately!)
However, today must be Mommy and Me at the sandwich shop because there are at least fifteen under-one-year-olds here. I love little 'uns, but gosh, they're noisy when you're hiding from distraction. So naturally, I put on headphones and iTunes--and Keith Urban. He and Rascall Flatts appear to be the only country music I like, but I really like them.
Imagine the dismay of those poor little babies, trying to eat their lunch and shout and cry and--whatever, when I suddenly forgot I wasn't home and burst into song. I'm not even sure Keith needed my assistance, either. He was doing fine on his own.
I probably ought to leave, but honestly, when you come to a sandwich shop, don't you sort of expect some wild-eyed writer on deadline to belt out a little Keith Urban at you?
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