The Outer Critic

“Momma?”
“Mmmhhm?”
“I like Daddy’s singing better.”
A moment of silence, as we cuddle in the bed.
“Oh.”
This is due, I know, to the fact that Daddy sings The Penguin Song, and The Turtle Song, and The Penguin And Turtle Song, wherein Bonhomme’s stuffed turtle and various penguin family members bob and weave and tickle and sing along to the ever-changing storyline.
And due to the fact that Mommy sings lullabies. In French. And hums classics like Ode To Joy and Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. And is often too tired, after 14 hours with Bonhomme, to make more shit up.
And so, Daddy scores.
There go thirty years of choral training, lost to the popular vote of the five-year-old demographic.

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