My dream, or People know I am a shit person

So last night I had a dream, which I will tell you about! Boy says there's nothing less interesting than hearing other people retell their dreams. I think wots less interesting than that is new parents talking about how amazing their babies are. I mean, THEY ARE BABIES! They do fuck all.

I recognise that's just me.

Actually, that's a good segue into the dream: I was caring for the baby of a couple with which I am acquainted. In real life, I'm pretty sure this couple hates me. Well, for one, the dude defriended me on the FB some time ago. And I was only FB friends with him. I'm really not that gutted (actually, never ever was gutted) about it cos he was kinda boring. I mean, he never changed his profile pic, one of a person doing a pretty nice sporting action, which was clearly not him. That makes him dead suspect to me. And she got on my tits!

Anyway, throughout the entire weekend I cared for the baby, I called the kid "Killian" though that is not his name - it's nowhere near his real-life given name even. To be fair, Killian is a much cooler name than the kid's real name, though. I reckon the kid is four months old, but I fed him a diet exclusively of salty peanut butter crackers. You know, the ones that come in packs of six that you get out of American vending machines. I'm also pretty sure I left him alone several times, once for an pretty extended amount of time where he conked his head. I never changed his nappy. Yep, I was a pretty shit person.

Could this be why this couple hates me? Could they somehow (don't ask me how: I only come up with the theories, not explain them) look past the dreamscape and look directly into my soul and tell that I'm such a shit person that I would harm their little Killian (he will always be Killian to me now) and give him jailbound-worthy care for a weekend? Is this why I was defriended?

But at the same time, if they knew I was such a shit person, why did they let me care for the baby? Clearly, these people are bad parents.

My singing

I am, despite wot anyone says to the contrary, a fairly shit singer. I blame myself entirely. When I was a child I, apparently, had a nice singing voice. There was nothing I liked better than singing with my wee tidda. I was by no means the star of the church choir and never sang lead, but I contributed enough.

My paternal grandmother loved to hear us sing. Actually, I think she just loved to show off. She would take me and Tidda around like we were the star attraction in a carnie freak show.

"Ooooo!"
"Look at how long their hair is!"
"Ain't they just so pretty!"
Grandma: "They can sang too."
"Aw, g'on babies. Sang!"

As much as I adored my grandma, I hated singing for all those people. But it wasn't like you could beg off, or politely decline. Because this was Miss Bea, and you did what you were told with a smile. So I rebelled in a most passive-aggressive way possible: singing off-key. And I did it so much and for so long that I couldn't figure out how to get back on.

And I still have no idea how to sing on key or in tune. This is why I karaoke repertoire consists of nearly exclusively of rap songs. Specialities: Ice ice baby and Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock's It takes two. I have also been successful with Here comes the hotstepper and I wanna sex you up. Exceptions to the rule: Losing my religion and Wonderwall, particularly played by another person on guitar.

Despite my singing shititude, there is one audience that I will un-self-consciously sing for: my pupils. When I had a classroom in the States, I remember the first song I sang in front of my kids was Lift every voice and sing. Whatta song. And whatta bad song for a clueness numptie like me to sing - the lowest of low notes, quickly followed by soaring high notes. Normally, I wouldn't have done it, but I had my reasons: it was Black History Month (Lift every voice and sing is informally known as the Negro national anthem); the kids were to sing it at a whole school assembly and needed to learn the words. But mainly, I did it cos the song meant (and still means) a lot to me. I rather pathetically always bust into tears when I hear or sing it, blubbering kinda like my pal Macca does when anything Scottish happens anywhere, ever. (So, yes, when I listened to the YouTube link of Lift every voice and sing, I did start to greet.) Yet after I finished, the kids whispered eversoreverently, "You're the best singer ever." The best moment of my life. Ever. And I haven't stopped singing to and with my kids yet.

Yet my little bubble was burst yesterday when I invited another teacher in for our daily P1 singalong. She actually winced when I began to sing. "Why don't you join in with the singing?" I said to her, wearing the kinda smile on you have when you're around children and you really don't feel like smiling. "I would... if I could just figure out the tune," she replied with equal faux joviality.