This here is my good ... nay, GREAT ... friend Peter Fox. A sliding buddy from Germany introduced us in January, and I have since spent a good part of every day for the past ... oohhhh ... 37 days or so ... letting him whisper sweet German nothings (and a few somethings) into my ear.

Some might consider it a tad offside, were I actually spending 14 hours a day hanging out with some dude who is not my husband. But seeing as my pal Pete here is a German hip-hop artist who merely keeps my ears entertained with the soothing sounds of Berlin slang, while expanding my vocabulary with useful phrases like "I slay my goldfish, bury him in the yard" and "It would be good if my brain fell out of the window" and "I am an engineer for excavator technology," it seems to me that this is nothing more than a medicinally treatable case of OCD.

That, and PROGRESS.

Yep. I did say German hip-hop. For once in my life, the music I love is socially acceptable ... or at the very least, cryptic enough that no can really form an opinion as quickly as if I were listening to, say Celine Dion, or something equally culturally shameful.

Me, the eternally musically-challenged ... loving German hip-hop. Who would have guessed?

Me, the grade-three kid humming The Kingston Trio's "Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley" on the way home from school. Me, the tormented junior high schooler crooning Karen Carpenter's "It's Yesterday Once More" while teasing my bangs. Me, the mortified high school senior trying desperately to pretend that, yes, of course I know who Guns & Roses are, and, no, this Peter, Paul and Mary cassette tape in my yellow Sony Walkman most certainly does not belong to me.

You can't even begin to comprehend the lengths I have gone to throughout my life, to avoid answering questions like "What type of music do you listen to?" and "What's your favorite band?"

Seriously folks, we are talking about a person here who listens to CBC Radio 3 as music rehabilitation, so that in certain social situations they can replace phrases like "Man, I love ABBA" with "Man, Beast is my favourite Montreal indy band." (You are welcome Claire).

People. Listen to me. I actually redeem my iTunes gift certificates for Irish Rovers songs. Do you even know who the Irish Rovers are? Exactly.

And now look at me. I got the bass pumping and the volume cranked as I drive down the street jamming to a recently-released chart topper. The other day I had a discussion with a virtual stranger about my musical tastes, which did not involve stifled laughter on his part. More than once this past week I have let friends into my house, and not only did I not rush to turn off whatever I was listening to, I actually turned it up.

So THIS is what it is like to not be embarrassed by one's musical preferences. I think I will go celebrate by calling into the local radio station and dedicating some Celine Dion to my little sister.