There’s really no need for me to say it, growing up in the south and having not two but three crazy grannies, you guys can safely assume ole Dolly Parton meanders her little blonde head into my my little blonde head and we have ourselves a little southern sing-off(not by choice) that can get intense and vocally challenging.
This morning I woke up and she was already there..geared up, hair already teased to the heavens, Good God, she was already clapping and moaning, humming, snapping.. I could here her over there under her breath “wooorkin’ 9 to 5”.
I tried to ignore her and did for a good 6 minutes…however she purposefully pushes her voice louder , dominating my serene chilled morning. I give her a little attention with a quaint whistle and toe tap, then glance into my brain where she’s taken center stage, stompin’ her foot.. she actually had the audacity to bug her at eyes at me! Dolly is fishin’ for a duel.
So instead of straining my vocal cords so early, chancing a migraine before noon- duel we will-but my weapon of choice….my whistle.
Her band starts in, as does my whistle, of course she’d choose 9 to 5.. she’s knows I hate it.
I start in, whistles sharp, perfectly spaced, tuned to perfection. She starts singing loud but my whistle blows much louder.
With not a single mishap now I’m submerged in chorus repetition. I’m feelin’ it, impressed actually by my whistling rhythms persistence. Dolly, now out of my head and barreling into my kitchen has begun an angry two-step round’ my kitchen table,cutting eyes hard. My cheeks are tired from straining, blood vessel busted in my eye(not really), quickly growing dizzy from deep breaths of air but still maintaining an unwavering whistle stream, she’s not lettin’ up either.
There’s no throwing in the towel now, I can’t stop, as I look back at my children and their eyes are wide in awe as they watch their fearless(breathless) mother, fiercely foot stompin’, knee slapping this battle back and forth, executing whistling excellence within the crumby realm that is our kitchen, on beat and in tune ..dominating this duel, that they’re delightfully unaware of but still, their eyes glued while feelin’ it too.
My daughter now River-dancing in a superb Dollywood swing style serenade, my son bobbing his head with such tenacity, not even Elmo himself could’ve triggered. And we’re wrapping up! I’m Almost done! Whistle content in its last few lines!! Dolly has vanished and i’m about to blow my way to the final notes!!
Suddenly, rudely and abruptly, my SNEAKY husband took it upon himself to burst around the corner only to join in on MY whistling duel(I call it interrupting) in the wrong tune, not to mention, it was even at the wrong part of the song..and it began, the crashing.. throwing our entire country concert into an obliterated oblivion. Having lost my place, my whistle shrieked out of tune and trailed off into the fiery flames of hell.
It was slow motion after that. My daughter’s River-dancing ankles buckling underneath her, dropping her flailing 26 pound body to the floor in utter limpness.. my son’s body slinging backwards onto the ground from a loudly interrupting nails-down-a-chalkboard tune.. and my husband, becoming aware of the chaos he just so causally caused -mid whistle shriek- now flying through space stretching violently to catch our son, my cup of coffee paused in the brink of space, my body hurdling towards the ground, the stove catches fire as my plush robe strokes the flame on the way down, birds scatter from nearby trees, and in silence, there I am, lying, lifeless on the ground like a roadkill. Singed robe, floating ashes..She appeared over me, Dolly. Her grimace blocking the scorched ceiling, staring into my eyes, she winks and begins,
“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene “
Dolly won today(no thanks to my husband) for it is now almost evening and her songs still linger in the air around me, forcing their way up and out through my vocals.
Also the freeway was stopped today at 1pm!! (blaming him for that one too.)
About a whistle.
😝😝Thanks for stopping by you guys!