It was a dark and stormy evening. Billowing dark clouds thundered over the heads of many citizens of London, threatening to open up and pour at any second. It was a bad night to be out, and yet many London citizens were lined around the block outside of the Royal Opera House, including Thaddeus J. Hedwater and his wife Mary Jane.
“It’s a perfectly dreadful day for an opera, isn’t it?” Thaddeus said grimly, holding his hand out in hopes the rain would fall. He’d been quite vocal about his dislike about the opera at this point, which had been getting under his wife’s skin.
“You should get out of the lab and absorb a bit of the local culture, dear.” Mary Jane advised. “Who knows? You may actually enjoy yourself.”
“Perhaps at some other cultural events, but not the opera,” Thaddeus stuck out his tongue. “Everyone just sings what they’re doing the whole time.” To Mary Jane, and the audience’s surprise, Thaddeus broke into song, trilling “I woke up, and got out of bed and changed out of my paaaajaaaaamas! Now I’m sitting down at breakfast and eating my grapefruiiiiiit!”
“I wish you would quit that dear.” Mary Jane said plainly.
“Whyyyyy am Iiiiii embarrassing youuuuuuu!?”
“No,” Mary Jane replied. “Your singing voice is terrible.”