Whistling: Window to my Soul

I Whistle.

Alot.

I can't help it. If I'm doing work... I whistle. Driving... whistle. In the shower... whistle. Playing with the kids.... whistle.

Now... this usually isn't a problem. As long as you're not one of those loud, agressive whistlers (you know the type.... the guys that subconsciously pick up on your whistling and then naturally try to assert their dominance by whistling the same tune as you... only with much greater gusto and volume)... all should be okay.

Well, that is until you whistle something unbefitting of your manhood.

Today... I'm walking down the hallway at work... naturally whistling.... not paying a whole lot of attention to what I'm whistling until I pass Molly, the girl that works down the hall.

Something about encountering another human being makes me take inventory of what I'm whistling.

Then... it hits me... there is no denying it.

I was definitely whistling the following:

If you change your mind, I'm the first in line

Honey, I'm still free

Take a chance on me

If you need me, let me know, gonna be around

If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down

If you're all alone, when the pretty birds have flown

Honey, I'm still free

Take a chance on me

Gonna do my very best and it ain't no lie

If you put me to the test, if you let me try

Take a chance on me... take a chance, take a chance, chance

Yes... that's right friends.... I was whistling ABBA. No... not something acceptable... like Skynyrd, Johnny Cash, or Willie Nelson. Heck... I could have been whistling Kenny Chesney and it would have been better than ABBA.

Ah... I can't believe I got exposed. Darn you, whistling... window to my soul!

So... once I realize I'm whistling a song from a 70's Swedish pop band... I'm forced with the obvious question. Do I pretend she didn't hear and run the risk of being outted later? Or, do I own up and admit my...umm... mistake.

I choose the latter.... I poke my head in her office and sheepishly issue my mea culpa... "Umm... Molly... yes... that was Abba I was whistling... umm... ya... so... sorry."

She tries to be accommodating and pretend she didn't hear me whistling.... Thanks, Molly... I really don't like Abba... really... I promise. I mean, I love Ikea as much as the next guy... but... ABBA??? you know... give me Southern Rock... give me country... no... wait... I can't deny it.... whistling... window to my soul... gosh darnit... I want to be happy...give me ABBA, baby!..... take a chance, take a chance, chance!