I once went out with a “performance poet”. That sounds awful, I know, but it was fun poetry, street stuff, sort of a one man show sort of thing.
He had a poem about love from which I still remember the lines, “If you have love, you don’t need to eat breakfast, and you can walk around pissing indiscriminately and singing show tunes and people will forgive you for it.”
To that end, I am in love, and I have show tunes in my head. In particular one from The Producers. It’s old enough that I should explain the premise. Two impresarios oversell a Broadway show, hoping to make a flop and keep the money invested in the play. It’s in horrible taste, but I’ve been singing “Springtime for Hitler and Germany” for days!
I hope you will forgive me for it.