Recently, I’ve been singing a lot around the house.

This isn’t unusual in the grand scheme of things: I spent seven of the first 18 years of my life singing and dancing, even securing a small vocal scholarship upon graduation from high school. But after one semester as a musical theater major, I dropped it all. I’ve never even done karaoke.

But around the house lately, I’m become everyone’s favorite stream-of-consciousness songbird. I’ve been crooning favorites such as “Who Needs To Shower (I Do, I Do!)” and “Needo Grr, My Pet Rat Is Lonely.” Some of the songs get a little bawdy, like “I Want To Touch My Boyfriend’s Butt (So I Did).”

At work, there’s a woman who has a particularly drag queen-esque sing songy voice, so lunch breaks are spent singing songs with my coworkers. We like to theme our tunes around whatever the sing-songer was talking about that day. Classics like “I love shopping at Bel-Square” or “Did you finish the jooooooob?”

All the tunes are accompanied by much operatic vibrato, and enthusiastic hand flapping. Sometimes duets are sung, such as the tune about Moemoe Baby that Dre and I worked out, where in I sang “Moemoe Baby, nodding away. Moemoe baby, whatchoo got to say?,” while Andreas intoned the dirge-like bass part, “Moemoe. Baby. Moemoe. Baby.” Andreas and I also do our best theaterical Jack White imitations, cackling, “Be like the squirrel — Oh! Uh-Oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh!”

Is this a seasonally-induced singing psychosis? Or perhaps a sign that, after spending most of my 20s dancing, I’m going to spend my 30s singing?