I’ve Been Banned from Singing in My Own Kitchen

My daughter handed me a piece of paper yesterday headed FAMILY NOISE POLICY. Apparently, there’s been a formal complaint about my singing.

Not from the neighbours. From the people who live in my house, eat my food and leave their socks in places that defy medical explanation.

I’d been singing along to the radio while peeling potatoes. Admittedly, I didn’t know all the words, but that’s what imagination is for. My son said I sounded like somebody standing on a cat.

I told him it was artistic interpretation.

My daughter had even written rules. I could sing when nobody was home, in the garden or while wearing headphones. I pointed out that headphones wouldn’t stop me singing.

She looked horrified. Clearly, her legislation had a loophole.

I appealed to my other half, who announced he was remaining neutral before quietly turning the radio down.

Traitor.

So I called a family meeting and explained that singing was an essential part of my cooking process. If they wanted a silent kitchen, somebody else could prepare dinner.

Suddenly, my son thought I had a lovely voice. My daughter withdrew the complaint, and my other half turned the radio back up.

Amazing how quickly democracy collapses when potatoes need peeling.

Ten minutes later, we were all singing together, getting half the words wrong and sounding like four people being removed from a karaoke competition.

The noise policy has now been amended.

Apparently, I can sing whenever I’m cooking.

Does anyone else live with a self-appointed music critic, or are you the one giving the household free concerts?