Earworm Surgery -#freewrite 215: Monkey'sWedding

Ricki doesn't have anything against Belinda Carlisle personally. She quite liked her in The Go-Gos. But Our Lips Are Sealed can not make up for Heaven Is A Place On Earth, let alone Summer Rain. And Ricki meeds to blame someone, and so she is irrationally blaming Belinda for her being here, in hospital, being wheeled in to have a doctor slice into her ear and remove the worm that makes all the most hated songs in the world congregate in her head.

Four weeks ago was the last straw. There they were, in Nice, in summer, on holidays, just her and Denny. They were walking towards the Tower of St Francois when a fine mist rain started to fall. It was hot, and the fine misty rain fell golden on their heads and shoulders, giving a blessing and a respite from the heat.

This was called a "monkey's wedding", Denny said, when it rained while it was sunny. She'd never heard that expression before.

It was a beautiful snapshot moment, except for the earworm that started up. Summer Rain. Such a shitty, sappy song invading her head and attaching itself forever to this memory, ruining it.

This two weeks in Nice had been beautiful. With one exception - the relentless ongoing nature of I've Never Been To Me by Charlene, the worst song in the world, accompanying her days. And now here was Summer Rain. The two looped demonically through her mind for the rest of the trip.

Doubt had actually gone through Ricki's mind when her and Denny had been talking with her mother about whether to come here, or to go to Paris again.

"I'm worried it's just going to be a continual earworm of Charlene if we go to Nice, or the Isle of Greece, or Monte Carlo," Ricki groaned.

Her mother, as she knew she would, scoffed. "Don't be stupid, Ricki," she snapped.

Ricki's mother had never believed the diagnosis of Chronic Earworm Syndrome. For her it was a moral failing on Ricki's part, a laziness, an inability to discipline herself. She had laughed when Ricki showed her the pamphlet that talked about the illness, which was passed on genetically, and which now had a cure with a simple operation.

It was obviously Ricki's father who had passed on the illness. Ricki's mother was tone deaf and never listened to music. She had been the one with sole naming rights with their second child since Ricki's father had named her brother after his father.

And it was Ricki's father who left when Ricki was five because he couldn't cope with his daughter sharing his surname - Martin - and the torment that came with him singing She Bangs every day for five years.

Their holiday in Nice was tarnished by these earworms and Ricki knew she had to swallow her fear and book in for that operation. And so here she was now, being wheeled in to surgery, the anaesthetist and the nurse chatting to each other as they approached the surgeon.

The anaesthetist burped. "Oh!" she exclaimed. Excuse me! Must have been the macaroni I had for lunch!"

As The Macarena started up in Ricki Martin's head, she was flooded with relief as the anaesthetist placed the mask over her face. This living hell. It was nearly over.

This is the latest #freewrite challenge, hosted by @mariannewest. Today's prompt is "monkey's wedding".
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