“I only sing in the shower. I would join a choir, but I don’t think my bathtub can hold that many people.
”

“I make love like I sing—in a choir, alone in the bathtub.”

“Clair smiled, “I don’t sing, and besides, shower singing is meant only for the person taking the shower.”Alex walked into the bathroom and stood beside the tub. “So does that mean if I were to join you, you’d sing to me?”“Maybe,” she grinned.”

“Singing is my pleasure, but not in church, for the parson said the gargoyles must remain on the outside, not seek room in the choir stalls. So I sing inside the mountain of my flesh, and my voice is as slender as a reed and my voice has no lard in it. When I sing the dogs sit quiet and people who pass in the night stop their jabbering and discontent and think of other times, when they were happy. And I sing of other times, when I was happy, though I know that these are figments of my mind and nowhere I have been. But does it matter if the place cannot be mapped as long as I can still describe it?”

“Jason: Holy crap, is that a bathtub at the foot of your bed? That's awesome! Can I join?Julia: Hilarious.”

“I put the “sing” in single. But only when I’m in the shower.”