Sunday evening around seven, seven thirty or so, the three youngest Picetti’s were hanging together in the family room.
My neck was sore from watching football and football related programming since nine in the AM. Fehmeen must have sensed that my fantasy team was losing because she offered to massage my neck for the duration of three Zac Brown Band songs.
Always the nimble negotiator, Emma inserted her voice into the convo and suggested that we listen (and dance) to the musical stylings of Justin Bieber.
I nodded my head as if my neck didn’t hurt to let Fehmeen know where my loyalties were lying for the evening’s soundtrack. She smiled the ‘of course you’re going to agree with anything your daughter says’ kind of smile as she loaded the disc into the player.
Emma started moving and grooving the second the familiar Whoa Oooh Oooh introductory refrains of the lead track Baby.
After the second chorus and sometime before the Ludacris rapping section, Emma put this little gem out there: “I really like her voice!”
My wife and I looked at each other and Fehmeen informed our not even three-and-a-half year old little girl that the sweet sounding soprano voice she loved to sing along with belonged to a boy.
Her response was simply: “No, Mama.”
She came around a bit when Fehmeen showed Justin’s picture from the cd case and by the time track two began it was pretty much a non-issue for her…
…as it was for me. The massage lasted almost eight songs. You go, Justin(e) Bieber.