Have you seen the muffin man?

I know I'm a goofball. This is no secret. I sing silly songs, mumble to myself and have deep conversations with my dogs. I'm fine with that. I've accepted, embraced even, my goof. While I let it all hang out at home, I do try to maintain some level of normalcy among strangers in the real world (for Mike's sake), but Sarah seems intent on blowing my cover.

Last week, I baked some muffins. (Woo! Hoo! That's some goofy stuff. Wait, smarty. I'm getting to the goofy part.) I didn't do this for the same reasons a more domesticated person might. I don't particularly enjoy mixing dry ingredients with wet ones. The possibility of overworking the dough always makes me too anxious (Is the dough overworked now? Should I give it a smoking break? I don't want to be the Cathy Lee Gifford of baked goods.), and the golden brown tops of muffins do not strike any joyous chords in my heart. The only reason I baked muffins was because Sarah has a thing for muffins, and I'd rather scald my legs with boiling pasta water than deprive her of the smallest desire. (About the boiling pasta water, I've actually done that, and let me tell you, second-degree burns are only funny in a Tom and Jerry episode.) So, the baking of muffins warranted a dance and a song. As I served Sarah, I did a little jig and sang "Have you seen the muffin man? The muffin man. The muffin man." Catchy, huh? Sarah thought so. She joined in the dancing, and we both had a good laugh. I thought the muffin joy had been capped there. I was wrong. As it turns out, once muffin magic is released much like a jiggling genie, it can never be contained again.

The next day, we were out in public. While in the middle of playing with her friends and surrounded by their highly professional parents who’ve probably never seriously asked their dogs for fashion advice (Hey! Sancho knows a good shoe when he sees one.) much less sang a ditty about a sweet bread, Sarah was struck by the spirit of the muffin. She started flapping her arms wildly and singing about the muffin man. Then, she paused waiting for me to join in. What did I do? Well, I broke it out and let the muffin song fly. Now do you understand why Mike consumes his time with complicated hobbies that require long solitary stays in the safety of the garage?