AND A ONE-A, AND A TWO-A

Yesterday’s post regarding my perfect drive-time playlist initially contained a couple of additional paragraphs after the list of songs.

And I kid you not, this was the last sentence:

“Those moments when you channel the sounds coming out of the whelk shell pressed against your ear.”

For some reason, about halfway through the day yesterday it became a weird imperative for me to use the word “whelk” on sliced tongue.

I didn’t hear it anywhere, or read it anywhere, and believe it or not, it didn’t come up in conversation.

But there it was, rattling around my brain, looking for an escape hatch. Whelk, whelk, whelk…

So when I reflected on the songs that I’d heard on the way home, I found a vague yet visceral connective thread. Something to do with the public communion of private insecurities…

And by way of vague yet visceral explication, out came the whelk-shell image.

Holy shit, am I glad that I employ a team of editors to go over this stuff. Because, you know, that would have been mortifying if I had actually posted it…