Singers...

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“If it ain't obvious what has set me off to-day.” Mom screeches into the pen. “It's all over the yard and the trunk of the car.”

Dobby comes into the den. His face is scrunched into an unhappy expression. “Mom? Mom? Mom...”

Mom turns to Dobby and continues to sing. “It's all over the yard and the trunk of the car. I'm packing it in. So come and get it!”

Dobby nip at Mom's elbow, the sensitive and pointy end.

“Ouch, that hurts.” Mom says.

“Now you know how it feels.”

“What?”

“The pain in my ears when you sing.” Dobby says.

“It's not that bad.” Mom says.

“It's that bad.”

“You are a cat. It doesn't sound very good to you. I'm just projecting too loud.”

“Noises are coming out of your mouth, that's the problem.”

“It's not like I'm auditioning for a Broadway show. I'm just singing for fun. It's good for you.”

Dobby looks up from his cricket. “Trust me Mom, those noises you are making are not good for me.”

“I didn't say they were good for you.” Mom answers. “They are good for me. Singing helps a person's mood lighten. Reduces stress, lowers blood pressure.”

“I don't know how creating those noises is doing anything but tearing the crap out of your insides.”

“Okay I got the message I can't sing. I acknowledged that over twenty years ago. Recently I established a new goal for myself.”

Dobby asks, “What is that?”

“To be the world's worst singer.” Mom answers with a big grin.

Dobby closes his eyes and thinks for a minute.

"I really feel like I'm on my way to something big.  That man I was talking to today said my voice was unbelievable."

 "Mom,  he was trying to sell you Internet service.  I've seen him around the neighborhood.  Did he ask if you had ever considered modeling too?" 

 "Yes.  It's always nice to hear something like that especially on a bad hair day."

 "He told the woman next door that.  The sparkling, happy man across the street that and the old lady down the street."

 Mom lets out a brief sigh of disappointment.  She thinks about the tidbit of reality Dobby has introduced to her, processes it and adapts.  "So, if I know I can't sing, you are the only one saying my singing is horrifying  I know exactly what I need to do."

 "You do?"  Dobby asks.

"Yes.  Keep practicing until the world recognizes my complete lack of talent.  What should I sing next?  I feel like some...Gretchen Wilson."

"I'm a redneck woman...ain't no high class broad...just a product of my raisin' I say 'hey y’all and yeehaw'..." Mom belts out, screeching through several keys.
 Dobby leaves the den quickly, shaking his head on his way out of the room.  "Where did I go wrong?"  he mutters as goes to find some ear plugs.