I sing like a metamorphic rock.
Actually, I sing worse than a metamorphic rock. But I wanted an excuse to see my teenage daughter who plays the piano for my Mormon ward's choir. She is getting older, preparing herself for college where I will never see her. She is ready to leave the nest — just pop right off like a baby peeper, and Papa Redwing is not happy with her vacant spot at the dinner table. I took action; I decided to do something about it; I followed the simple command to "Do It!"