My music tastes are akin to a 15-year-old girl or a 21-year-old gay guy. As Dan has said on numerous occasions, no one has ever accused me of having great taste in music. Whenever we go on a road trip, I pull out my iPod only to be greeted with his sighs.

Husband: “Please no pop music, musical soundtracks or country.”
Me: “But I don’t think I have anything else on here.”
Husband: “Awesome. Let’s listen to the silence of the road.”
Me: “That’s boring.”
Husband: “I’d rather listen to radio static than Britney.”
Me: “Ok. Let’s listen to Daughtry then. Compromise.”

Dan will grudgingly agree and I silently whoop with joy because I know if Britney “happens” to “accidentally” pop up on the playlist, Dan will not object. Well, at least not loud enough for me to acknowledge it before the song is over. Lately, my iPod has been updated with a few new gems from Britney, Miley and Taylor. I also have added multiple songs that became Target commercials and a song by Owl City that I adore.

“Cuz I get a thousand hugs from ten thousand lightning bugs, as they try to teach me how to dance…”

You’re singing along, I know it. Don’t pretend.

Last week, I came home after a late rehearsal. Dan had his back to me as I walked in the room and he was bobbing his head. An ear bud was in, which normally means he’s playing WOW and doesn’t want me to overhear their conversations and make fun of them.

Seriously, it’s like listening to a frat full of computer geeks. So weird.

Just as I’m about to announce my presence, I hear him quietly singing to himself.

“I’m nodding my head like yeah, moving my hips like yeah…”

Thanks, Miley. You managed to accomplish what I could not. He’s a pop music fan.