On Wednesday night, Richie and Tim brought their recording equipment to the apartment and recorded at couple of songs. (Want to guess how much fun that was at midnight?)
Tonight, Richie got an idea. A very bad idea.
Richie: We should record a song!
Richie: (using emotional blackmail and good salesmanship)
Richie: But it will just be for us. No one will ever have to hear it. We were meant to be together. We’ve been together this long. We’ll probably be together tomorrow, and the day after that, and as long as nothing weird happens, the day after that. (Heisenberg uncertainty principle, economic factors, family, I fell asleep.) But for the next forty days, we should be solid.
I swooned. Couldn’t help it.
Do you know what I sound like when I sing?
Don’t put it on me, girl. But, Richie was not to be swayed. (Even though he swears that’s not true.)
Me: Do you think Caleb gives Joy this much shit about her stage fright?
Richie: I have no idea what they do in their private lives.
So, the song is recorded. I sound like a seven year old. With a southern accent, all of a sudden. And my voice was shaking. Richie’s arm movements were distracting. I had to turn my back to him. I was alternating laughing and almost crying. As it is, the whole thing is done and will be buried in the bowels of some place you’ll never find, and you guys will never ever hear it ever. EVER.