We were watching a movie not too long ago and I made the mistake of sharing a personal insight.
"That guy used to annoy the shit out of me," I said.
I explained that back in 1986, the actor in question had the same on-campus summer job that I did -- painting dorm rooms. Every day, he and his girlfriend would while away the tedium by singing show-tunes. Like, loud show-tunes. They'd effect a wildly exaggerated Ethel Merman caw and belt them out, one after the other... until I wanted to drown myself in my friggin' paint can.
Advice to parents of pre-teens: never volunteer information like this. It's like the Death Star advertising the location of its vulnerable exhaust ports -- you will be methodically destroyed.
I have since been forced to endure many impromptu performances. They even have friends over to send them in to where I might be quietly reading a magazine. A kid will walk in and start singing "There's no business, like show business...!"
Then the kid apologizes and says, "I don't even want to sing this but they told me to do it." Which is bullshit because he included the high-kicks and jazz-hands.
And so I must find an appropriate way to return the favor. I'll think of something. Until then, this may as well be in your head too. Like mine. Since 1986.