When I was about five or six, my Uncle dated an opera singer.
My Mum and Nanna made the mistake of taking me to one of her concerts. I was bored and began climbing all over squeaky chairs.
("Who brings their child to the opera? How rude.")
Nanna told me that I was impolite and needed to quieten down. This logic does not work on a five year old. I continued to roll around on the seats.
She leaned over, "Did you hear that? She just sung about picking her nose!"
I sat there as still as I possibly could for the rest of the show. Straining to hear the illicit lyrics that never came.
When I went back to school the next day, I decided to take class singing to a marvellous new level.
We began to sing Miss Mary Mac, and I pulled out my secret weapon. All the other children sat on the mat and sung, but I stood up and expressed myself. In full operatic voice.
Or whatever that actually sounds like for a five year old.
It definitely involved standing or at least kneeling for the appropriate lung expansion.
I continued this until one day I took a moment to snap out of my singing rapture. Kneeling on the mat, arms out wide, singing as high as I possibly could, I opened my eyes and looked around.
The children were horrified.
I sunk to the ground and proceeded to sing in a very normal voice.
Nothing would ever compare to that fleeting opera ecstasy.