I spend a lot of time touting my love of loud music. This love is quite genuine, and it has led to oddly out-of-joint moments in which my children have asked me to turn down my music, so that they can, oh, I don’t know, do their homework. So, yeah.
So today, there I was driving along, and I was suddenly, instantaneously reminded that loud music, beat-up Docs, and my trucker’s vocabulary aside, I am a weepy old so-and-so, and the following song — the single most manipulative piece of pop music in recent memory — brings tears to my eyes with its opening line. Because the instant it started, I was fighting back tears.
So yes. It’s a piece of crap. Probably. But I wish every single word of it for my children. And it makes me cry. Every.single.time. (Though Lee Ann Womack’s godawful I’ve-Draped-A-Chain-Across-My-Cleavage-To-Make-Sure-You-Don’t-Miss-It dress does serve as something of a mitigating factor).