And what do you mean My Very Own American Idol? someone else might ask.
Let me culture you.
I'm sitting on the train getting all into my very first Beth Moore book, when I hear someone humming. Is that humming? What is that sound? The mild humming rapidly melts into a high pitched song coming out of the mouth of a girl sitting across from me. The girl seems normal. Cute hair, big cubic zirconium earrings, skinny jeans and sneakers. Oh, and head phones on.
Is that really her singing? Everyone is looking around wondering where this voice is coming. . . WHOOOAAA. Definitely her. She is now belting out some song about "I'll provide for youuuuuuuu uuuu uuu iii aaahhhhh uuu. And you need meeeee me me me." She lets her voice do that staccato trill thing, that sounds more like someone clearing their throat while riding in the back of a truck bed thats doing circles in the Gay Street parking lot. Oh my gosh. I'm laughing to myself now. Well, note even to myself, I'm laughing out loud. She can't see me. Her eyes are closed, she is very involved in her music. Boy, she is gaining some serious momentum. I mean, the train is loud but that voice of hers is clearly winning.
Sad, this is my stop. See ya' Mariah.
So that, my friends, was my very first experience with My Very Own American Idol, reject that is. Truly wish you could have been there.
