Winging it

Some friends of mine have an unhealthy obsession with a singer from New Zealand called Wing. Well, when I say “singer” I use it in the broadest sense of the word, ie, someone who sings. Not particularly well. At all.
But good on her, at least, for not letting her supreme lack of talent be an impediment to her singing career. Wing has in fact released five CDs, which she sells online . . . to . . . somebody.
Last night, Wing performed on Rove Live, a TV show with a sense of humour decidedly of the teenage-boy-snigger-snigger-boobies variety.
What I’ve always wondered about Wing is whether she is aware of her own pissweakness and having a laugh at (or along with) all of us, or if she’s the sort of person who nobody has ever had the heart to tell “look, don’t give up your day job”.
If it’s the latter, no doubt Wing will proudly proclaim her appearance on Australian TV as proof of her successful singing career.
But what if . . .
What if all the achievements we’re so proud of that we put on our resumes or tell our friends about are like Wing appearing on Rove — people were really laughing at us behind our backs and we weren’t in on the joke?

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