On my way downstairs to microwave a pizza fix a complex dinner tonight, I noticed that Katie was sitting on her bed, surrounded by index cards and looking pretty sad.  I asked her what was wrong and she had only a single-word answer: “Finals.”

A quick glance at the index cards confirmed that she was studying the dreaded Humanities, also known as The 8 A.M. Class That Katie Rarely Went To During This Past Semester.  After trying to assure her that she’d do great on tomorrow morning’s exam (and no, I don’t really believe that either), I started grasping for straws:

Me: “Well, what grade do you have in the class right now, before you take the final?”

Katie: “Before I answer, why does it matter?”

Me: “I was just thinking that maybe you could just bomb the final and still pass the class.”

Katie: “Um… thanks for that not-so-helpful advice.  I’d like to actually keep my honors scholarship.”

I gave up at this point.  But then, while throwing away my paper plate washing my fine china after dinner, an idea came to me.  I knew just the thing to cheer Katie up.  I ran to my bedroom, put my hair in a ponytail and then knocked softly on her door.

And then I proceeded to do an entire song and dance routine to various Celine Dion songs.  Jealous much?

Well, I hope you are jealous.  ‘Cause Katie?  Not so jealous.  Or impressed.  Or even remotely grateful.  That’s the last time I sing Celine Dion for her.  I’m going back to the only stage where I’m truly appreciated.

Ya’ll be sure to crowd into my bathroom tonight but don’t you dare try to get in my shower on my stage.