After picking up Julianna (8) and Isabella (5) from school yesterday, Isabella wants to sing me a song she just wrote.
As a classically-trained composer, nothing could tickle me more.
Iz: Daddy, I’m going to sing a song about ME.
Oh God. Another self-centered narcissistic composer. Welcome to Hollywood.
She begins to sing. Her intonation is atrocious, and the melody is derivative of every other song she has ever written. Like Green Day.
Still, she comes up with a great story:
(I’m not quite sure what key she is in. So, there, she’s got her Daddy’s sense of pitch.)
Here’s a song about a little girl…
Her name is Isabella.
And she is me, me, me.
She is a little girl.
And she is Me.
Let me tell you about Me.
Me, me, me.
And the best thing is:
She loves Daaaaaa-ddy.
Didn’t see that coming.