At work today, the song "Physical" by Olivia Newton-John came on. This woman in line started singing it (knowing only the chorus; if you don't know the whole song, why embarrass yourself?). She was with a little boy. I presume it was her son. She started singing the song to her maybe-son. I couldn't wait to be rid of her. She thought I didn't want to be at work (early on a Saturday, yes, but not the point), while all I could think about was a) the sicko pervert who just sang a song to a little boy about fucking (it's not that hard to get the message) and b) how astronomical that boy's therapy bills will be in the years to come.

It's like a guy singing Robert Palmer's "Simply Irresistible" to his fiancee. I mean, why serenade your soon-to-be-wife with a tune about prostitutes and the purchase of said prostitutes?! (Listen to the song again: 'She's so fine there's no telling where the money went'/'She's so fine there's no other way to go'? Tell me I'm wrong.) Now that I think about it, this would've been a much better title for that Richard Gere/Julia Roberts movie. Leave Roy Orbison's song alone.