There are a few things I'm good at in this world, and singing isn't one of them. I can dust the heck out of a living room (although I typically choose not to), I can keep a number of different types of house plants alive, I can shuffle cards really well, and I can make a meal appear out of thin air no matter how many weeks it's been since our last trip to the market. But darn it, I cannot sing. If you think my lack of talent stops me, you're mistaken. I love to sing. I almost don't mind traffic (that's mostly a lie) because it gives me more time to belt out the tunes. In fact, when I'm sitting next to someone forever in rush hour, I'm not at all above rolling down my window and singing at them. Judging by the smiles and laughter, I've found it to be a mutually beneficial way to pass the time. Now because I know I'm not America's Next Top Singer (is that a show? I'm not sure that's a show.), I didn't really worry when my surg