Dear Hon,

Remember when I cautioned you to control your antics in front of the kids, lest those antics come back to bite you in the posterior?

Uh huh.

Bear that in mind next time you're about to burst into song, particularly if that song involves anything from the 1970s and your unique brand of artistic license. Because today, when the hayride-in-the-rain got to be a bit much for our four-year-old field trippers and the teacher couldn't get them to even break out with "Old Mac Donald," she encouraged your daughter to "Sing your song!" And she did. Loudly and with great abandon.

FEEEEEEEEELINGS!
WOO OOO OOOOOH
FEEEEEEEEEELINGS!
WOO OOO OOOOH!

You should have seen it. Really. From the bottom of my heart, I wish you'd been there. Because I was there, and every adult eye on that blasted wagon landed on me.

Have you ever stopped at the zoo to watch the prairie dogs? Then you know what I did. My eyes got huge, I murmered something like, "Oh, dear God," and tried my darndest to burrow under the wet straw for the rest of the excursion.

Control yourself. Please. Or else take over field trip duty. I'll be in the haystack, waiting for it all to be over.

Your blushing bride