George Michael's still got it.

So my taste in food these days has been really bland. I like fried things with ketchup and honey mustard, smoothies, tuna sandwiches, and plain pasta. If you come at me with garlic, curry, or basically anything seasoned beyond salt and pepper you can just keep walking. And apparently this taste for the bland applies to anything musical as well. Before I got pregnant, I had been listening to rap like it was my job (when I close my eyes and picture it I am SUCH a baller). But now the jam to me is an easy listening mix of some Lionel Ritchie, Peter Cetera, Seal, Phil Collins, and REO Speedwagon. It has made me wonder, as I drive along and sing with feeling about Careless Whispers, if this is the beginning of some kind of chemical mom transformation. One that begins with Light FM and moves through the stages of practical haircut, jeans with white sneakers, t-shirts with Walt Disney characters, and finally culminates in the ubiquitous mini-van. If so, I’m just saying, mini-vans come with televisions and automatic doors these days and personal airvents for each seat...maybe I could do worse.