P1170127While driving a car I happen to like to sing (really badly) and dance along to the radio or what ever CD I may have on repeat. I’m a fan of the cliche hard rock driving songs such as ACDC Thunderstruck and Highway to Hell. No, this isn’t joke I actually contemplated for many years about walking down the isle at my wedding to high octane beat of Highway to Hell. You know, just for a laugh and break tradition. However as much as it would have been fun, I am religious and the song is not exactly…. appropriate. My mother, father and Nan would most likely not approve and it’s not the greatest thing to acknowledge your marriage as a ‘highway to hell’; though I guess that depends on your perspective. I chose a much more Colourful song by the American Authors “Best Day of My Life”. Still upbeat and with the quirk only Vetti could bring to a formal event. Anywho… Driving down roads, sing and dancing in the car.

I am not alone in sharing this passion of singing along in the car… admit it…you do it too.

I used to do it (and still do) with friends when a popular song from yester year comes on the retro playback session on the radio as you reflect back on how you bopped, sung and totally ‘loved’ the song when it was a new release. Oh, the good old days.

The smallest trip 5mins down the road would see me put the radio on.  I usually left it tuned in so that as soon as the key turned in the ignition I had music, sweet music, blaring out my speakers.

I drove to and from work while working in Sydney Australia even though work and home were close to public transport. Because, while in your own car you get to control the temperature, the music, sometimes the speed though city morning traffic the only choice you really have is which lane your crawling in, but at least it was my choice and of course it was an escape from the gosh awful smells that sometimes comes from public transport travel woes. You know what I’m talking about… The serial farter.  So anyway, driving in my own car even for a short trip meant music playing and the chance to sing along to the words. This was my little bubble and I liked it.

Merrick and Rosso radio announcers one afternoon when I was stuck in particularly bad traffic dared drivers to start waving and look around at the other cars while you crawled through traffic. They laughed to see how many people were actually doing it. I laughed out loud as many other people in the other cars did as we all started waving at each other. Merick and Rosso’s point to the experiment was that your not as alone in your car as you think and people can see you when you pick your nose or are singing along loudly in your car. My bubble sufficiently burst that afternoon and I became more conscious of myself while in standing traffic, however, it didn’t stop me for long. I was back into the swing of things in a few weeks, in fact I think I got worse.

When I met my now husband I was at a peak of feeling wild and free and in love. While he was driving, it meant that I got to the chance to really do it MC Hammer style and bust out some moves along to the music as a golden oldie “beer” song came onto the radio. I’ve forgotten what it was, but I knew all the words and danced smiling at my boyfriend with a secret hope he would join in. What I got was a smile, shake of the head and a sigh. Slightly hurt, but never the less I refused to let it stop me from enjoying myself, so I continued. Much to his constant smiles he refused to join in. Infact he threatened to kick me out of the car and make me walk. Note: this only made my singing louder and my moves more obnoxious.

Later that evening at home our relationship had gotten to the point of those three little words “I Love You” in which he responded, “Thanks,” squeezed me tight and kissed me. Wait a minute…. He didn’t say he loved me too… Cogs that tick in a woman’s mind as she kisses. Remember guys, she is a multi tasker.  I pushed away and asked with a slight frown, “Do you love me too?”. There was a pause, then slowly this mischievous smile appeared wide across his face.   He looked over at me and said, “Of course I do, in your own lunchbox,”. And so it began a relationship fully accepting of my whacky habits, wired ways of looking at things or going about a task + my interesting fashion sense. He loved me for the world that I created for myself and was letting him in on.

This triumphant moment marked the first recognition of my adult life that I was fine just the way I was. I was Vetti, and being in my own “Lunchbox” wasn’t such a bad thing after all.