Things I Must Admit

Today, as I put the house back in order from the holidays, I turn up the radio and belt out the song with my horribly out-of-tune voice. 

It’s a country song.  It’s Carrie Underwood.  My husband comes into the kitchen, and I confess, “Honey, I’m sorry, I’m back to country music.  I just love it, and I can’t help it.” 

I do love country music.  I love the sentimental, predictable, sappy, small-town, bad-rhymes, and twanging guitars of it.  I love it all.  I know I’m supposed to be refined, academic, discerning, and above this kind of music.  I’m supposed to have good taste. 

I know it’s not intellectual.  I know that the formula is standard in most country songs:  Someone’s going to have a broken heart.  God usually appears by the last line.  And finally, it’s going to be patriotic of all things. 

I love it.  I love it all. 

I had to admit this to you.  I hope you’ll still like me. 

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Do you have a favorite country song?  Anything else you’d like to admit? 

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