My husband was once an aspiring rapper.
He harboured a secret desire to be a rapper (I tell him this is not really music, but he just doesn’t hear me). This was the Eighties you have to understand, the time of Vanilla Ice, MC Hammer, Milli Vanilli (OK, maybe not them), Ice-T and the like. My husband hoped he might have a bright future in rap, just like his rap heroes.
So today I ask him, jokingly, why he didn’t become a world-famous rapper. There’s a bit of a pause and then he looks at me and says, rather quietly, “I ran out of words.”
That’ll be why then.
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