Name that tune? On second thought, I'll pass

The Examiner

Isn’t it amazing how the brain works? I must confess I often muse upon the fact that it would be positively lovely if people used theirs more often.

Like the photo I saw of the young woman looking somewhat puzzled at the nozzle of the gas pump inserted into her car. She evidently couldn’t figure out why gas wasn’t gushing into her tank, despite the fact the yellow plastic bag stating “out of order” was clearly attached to the device. Well, duh.

Annie Dear

Or the incompetent driver not connecting brain to hands when trying to back out of a parking space, repeatedly scraping the car next to her as the bumper met the perfectly parked vehicle as the person turned the wheel too precipitously – time and again, back and forth, scrape-scratch.

Or the tree lopper sitting on the wrong side of a branch he was assiduously lopping. Timber! Indeed.

My brain works in mysterious ways sometimes. Generally speaking it seems to be pretty much on track and does what I need it to do. Lately I’ve noticed a very odd phenomenon happening in my happy cranium.

You know when you’re listening to music, it often happens that the last song you heard before unplugging yourself will repeat and repeat in your ear all day?

Well my brain has decided just to pick random songs and play them at extremely random times.

I can be in the kitchen, puttering away with a recalcitrant leek, and I’ll hear: “Day-o, Day-ay-ay-ay-o, daylight come and me want to go home.” Now why would Harry Belafonte lurch into my conscience at that point?

Wandering, albeit purposefully around the supermarket, I will metaphorically burst into “baubles, bangles and beads” for no apparent reason. I cop the odd “que sera, sera” while looking out my back door, and hear Tchaikovsky’s 1812 while emptying the dishwasher – cannons included.

It’s interesting to note I don’t come up with any modern-day songs. In fact, I come up with stuff my mum and dad used to listen to – a little touch of Mantovani or Ferrante and Teicher  from time to time which makes me chuckle, as in my mind I loathed it way back then, even before anyone ever coined the phrase “elevator music”.

The one that has me extremely puzzled however, is the recurring audio I get of an old – oh so very old – commercial that I think dates back to the 60s. “What’s the gentlest tissue in the bathroom you can issue? Why it’s Sorbent, the safest for sure!” Well I’m so glad the advertiser was so proud of their product. Evidently it was economical, its sales were astronomical, and I could buy it at my favorite store. And – and, ladies and gentlemen, it was available in the softest pastels – pink, aqua, yellow and white.

Now why on Earth would this pop into my gray matter – especially at the time I’m about ready to fall into the Land of Nod? I, in fact, wake myself right back up, so I must confess I’m a tad peeved at Sorbent right about now.

Good Lord, the next thing you know I’ll be wondering where the yellow went when I brush my teeth with Pepsodent!

Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at