“Oh look,” I pointed to the TV above our heads. “That’s kind of phallic.”
“Yes,” the TTHM said.
“Is this American Girl?” The sound was hard to hear
“I believe it is.”
I immediately started singing and shrugging my shoulders to the beat, at least the one in my head. “She was an American girl raised on promises. She couldn’t help thinking there was a little more to life somewhere else. After all it was a great big world. . . ”
“What is it with you thirty-something girls and this song?” the TTHM asked, interrupting my performance.
I looked at him waiting for an explanation.
“Whenever you’re at a bar and this song comes on, you’re all off in some corner singing it.”
“Oh yeah, all right, take it easy baby,” I sang in response. “It’s because sometime, somewhere we’ve all had some boy that we like put this song on a mixtape because he said it reminded him of us.”
“You all should keep doing it, it’s really attractive.”