Gotta sing, gotta dance

I often wish my life were like a musical. The kind with Gene Kelly, not Fred Astaire, because I prefer it when my male romantic leads are heterosexual. There's something so wonderful about a group of people randomly bursting into song and dance, where they know all the words and choreography. Sadly, real life isn't like that.

Or so I thought, until Monday night when I was coming home from the grocery store on the subway. A drunk man got on and started singing "Stairway to Heaven" and tried to get the other people on the train to sing along. One guy actually did for a bit, and I thought that if only I could join in, it would be awesome and everyone would join together, and someone would whip out an guitar and someone else would start banging on the seats like a drum, and we'd all sing together, and the subway car would fill with smoke so that it's kind of spooky, then Jimmy Page and Robert Plan would appear and lead us to

But sadly, the only words of that song that I know are "stairway to heaven" so none of that could happen.