I would love to be a cabaret torch singer. I would grab a microphone, look at the audience and tell them, “This is one of my favorite songs. It means a lot to me and I hope you’ll like it. It’s from the musical The Wiz.” I would start singing Home. The small band behind me would slowly build to a crescendo with predictable key changes to wow the crowd. With my compromised hearing I’ve never been able to hold a tune. In this alternative universe I would have the voice of an angel with the power of a cyclone. At the end of my set the clapping would never stop. People would clap until their hands began to bleed. As I leave the stage the roar of the crowd would beckon me to return with an encore of  The Impossible Dream. I would sit on the floor and begin singing. As the song bombastically grows, I would rise and belt the end notes through the roof. I would throw kisses, bow and leave the stage with a triumphant rush.