If you don’t know Delilah, the national radio show host with the voice of an angelic therapist, I’ll inform you. Delilah is Chicken Soup for The Soul personified.
Actually, if you haven’t listened to her before, just stop reading. You won’t get it.
Because of my mom, I especially love listening to Delilah’s exclusively Christmas songs radio show around holidays, while wrapping gifts, driving, etc.
(I realize other people my age have moved on to Spotify playlists and podcasts, but sometimes a girl just needs some Delilah holiday spirit in her life.)
As I was wrapping gifts and listening to Delilah connect with people at a metaphysical level, I had a jolting moment of real life practicality. A moment of clarity.A moment of wandering down the dark path of adult realism, all lined with credit card statements and Weight Watchers wrappers.
Delilah isn’t who I thought she was. She isn’t wearing reindeer jammies while taking calls from her couch, personally choosing songs to dedicate.
Caller Carolyn, who apparently took MONTHS to get through to cry to Delilah personally, could barely verbalize through tears her deep devotion to her husband. After years of financial hardship, loss, and a separation, they reconciled.
I was moved, even though I was out of Scotch tape.
Delilah promised to find a song perfect to fit their winding journey. The ups, the downs, the love “they should celebrate tonight.”
And then silence.
And then: Frosty the Snowman.
Delilah! You savage!
Carolyn just exposed her soul on national radio confessing her undying love and her husband’s favorite meal!
And her husband, who probably wasn’t listening due to the fact that he’s a guy and/or is preoccupied with this being the middle of basketball season, would definitely have felt (embarrassed and weirded out and) that their cemented love was undermined by a corncob pip and a button nose and two eyes made out of coal.
How can one even dedicate Christmas songs, anyway? That’s like dedicating the national anthem to someone. Like, “Hey, this is cute because no one’s ever dedicated a song to me, and it’s not at all applicable but that’s nice!” You can’t dedicate Silver Bells. It doesn’t make sense. It’s Christmas time in the city for everyone, and we all ding a ling hear them ring, not just caller Anne.
It was amazing and confusing and left me wondering if an intern chooses songs for Delilah, if she just connects to Spotify real quick, or if she has a funny sense of humor that I’d overlooked.
If so, snaps for Delilah. I have a little respect for that.
It burst my Delilah bubble est. 1998 but I simultaneously did one of those stank-face nods of approval. I’ll still be listening for the occasional enjoyment of shock value…but I’m also taking podcast requests.