Just forget I asked...

When the 7-year old comes skating across the kitchen floor in his socks to announce, "I have a song stuck in my head,"

it is probably best to just say, "Oh, sorry."

Because if you say, "What song?"

the answer is very likely to be something like this:

I am better than 
A noisy coward walking on the floor.
"STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!" goes the coward.
Papa loves me,
Papa loves me,
Papa looooooooves me!

Which, of course, will force you to point out that, "That is not a song. You cannot have that stuck in your head because there is no such song. That is not a thing! That is NOT a song, and that is NOT stuck in your head!"

Whereas your husband will cut to the chase: "Let me wrestle you a second, and then brush your teeth and get your pajamas on."

Of course, the entire journey from the kitchen to the upstairs bathroom will take said 7-year old just long enough to sing approximately 1 1/2 rounds of said NOT-song at the top of his lungs.



And now, two hours later, I must admit that there is a certain "stickiness" that this musical non-number does have.

"STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!" goes the coward.
Da-da-dum-dee,
Da-da-dum-dee,
Da-da-duuuuuuuuuuum-dee...