So there you are, say, commuting to work, and you are in a mellow mood. Talk radio doesn't sound good. Local stations mostly suck, and besides, your nerves don't want to be jangled today.
So you, you know, put the local light rock station on your car radio.
There you are, driving and thinking and listening to easy listening music that dates back a few years. Ok, more than a few years. A few decades, really. And you know all the words. You remember when that song was top ten. You recall when you heard it coming through your all in one turntable/radio unit with the dial drift and the scratchy single speaker.
So there you are, listening. Then, say, maybe a schlocky 1970's love song comes on. One you haven't heard in a really long time. And so you think "wow...what ever happened to THIS embarrassing song..." but then you listen to it a bit more, and you hear the words. And you are touched.
You think, "Well, but for some totally seventies arrangements, this is a really beautiful song."
So you're driving along, hearing the words, and thinking of the one you love most. Say, your fantastic spouse...and you hear these syrupy love words and you think to yourself "yes! Yes that too! Oh! And that other sentiment is *totally* my sweetie."
And then maybe you cry a little bit. Not sadness, but because you've just heard words that totally encapsulate how powerfully you feel for that person who agreed to share their life with you.
It gets you right in the chest, and you let some tears roll down your cheeks and smile because you know you are the luckiest person in the whole wide world because you somehow found this amazing person who sees past your flaws and loves you anyway.
And you feel humble and unworthy but powerfully fortunate, like you won the lottery and the World Series all in one.
So then the song ends, and is followed by some more recent bit of clanky 90's attempt at music, and the tears dry up and you take your exit to get to work, and a knobsack in a green Honda cuts you off. And so you call Honda boy a name worse than knobsack and drive on and you sniffle and you laugh at yourself for being such a sappy old fool.
Then you get to work and go upstairs and lose yourself in email, but that humble and lottery winning feeling prevails. And you think about writing your fantastic spouse the love letter of the century, but you can't quite make the words sound anything other than schlocky.
So you just dwell in that quiet, humble, post-cry space and tell people that your allergies are acting up when they ask what is wrong with you.
But it's not the allergies...it's that damn 1970's song that got a hold of you...
Does this ever happen to you? Or is this just me? (And perhaps some helpful female hormones)
Or should I just give up and get fitted for a leisure suit now?