Since I’m resigned to being one of those people to whom 7:00 am is not alien, I try to prolong my time in bed as much as possible. If I must wake up, at least I will wake up slowly.

So the last couple of days, when the bun is beginning to get restless in his little sidecar-bed, I’ve plucked him out to lounge in our bed while I desperately try to prolong that sweet state between dreaming and rude awakening. The bun seems to enjoy himself, and as his gift to me he performs. This morning it was, as far as I could tell, the entire opera “La Traviata” translated into his native tongue. I joined in to the parts I knew, but I let the star have center-stage most of the show.

When he sings, he has the look of practiced earnestness. He opens his mouth just like a choirist and out comes a sound not unlike the Monster in Young Frankenstein singing “Puttin’ on the Ritz” (Supaaaa Dupaaaaa). It’s quite a show, and when I join in, he blushes like a diva and laughs. I don’t know much about opera so I had no idea what a big fan I would be, and I look forward to it now despite it’s early curtain time.

I wonder when he’s going to do the “Ring” cycle?

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