Member-only story
It’s no secret that I love music — a wide variety of music. But some of my friends and family seem to think I am obsessed with it.
Perhaps. Judge for yourself.
My friend told me I had a Tom Jones obsession. I told him, “It’s Not Unusual.”
My mother told me I had an Elvis obsession. I told her, “That’s Alright, Mama.”
A co-worker told me I had a Police obsession. I told him, “De do do do, de da da da is all I want to say to you.”
A grocery store checkout clerk told me I had a Boston obsession. I told him, “It’s More Than A Feeling.”
My brother told me I had a Paul McCartney obsession. I told him, “Maybe I’m Amazed.”
A member of the British Commonwealth told me I had an Adele obsession. I told her, “Rumour Has It.”
A local baker told me I had an Eagles obsession: I told him, “Take It Easy.”
My hairstylist told me I had a Bee Gees obsession. I told her, “You Should be Dancin’.”
My bandmate told me I had an Aerosmith obsession. I told her, “Dream On.”
My mechanic told me I had a Bachman-Turner Overdrive obsession. I told him, “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet.”
