Belle liked to sing.

She sang in the mornings when the birds were still yawning. She sang in the evenings when the stars were clearing their throats. And she sang in the shower so loudly that the neighbours once phoned to ask if a walrus had moved in.

On this particular Tuesday morning, Belle was giving the performance of her life.

Shampoo microphone in one hand, conditioner bottle in the other, she belted out:

“Sweet dreams are made of cheese,

Her younger brother pounded on the bathroom door.

“Those are not the words, Belle!”

“It is!” Belle shouted back, slipping into a dramatic pose with bubbles sliding down her nose. “Cheese makes sense. ‘This’ doesn’t. What even is ‘this’?”

Her brother groaned. Parents sighed. The dog barked. Belle just grinned.

Now, dear reader, I must interrupt. Yes, already. Because before we go any further, you need to know a Very Important Word. Ready? Here it is: Mondegreen. A mondegreen is what happens when you hear the wrong words in a song, sing them with absolute confidence, and then refuse to believe you’re wrong.

Belle is the Queen of Mondegreens.

I dabble in them myself. In fact, I once sang, very proudly, I might add,”

“I think Lorraine’s down in Africa!”

Oh yes. Everyone turned to look. Nobody else could see Lorraine, but I was certain she was there, somewhere in Africa. Possibly holding an umbrella, just in case it rains.

And listen, don’t bother asking your parents about mondegreens. They won’t know. They’ll say things like, “In our day, we just called it getting the words wrong.” But don’t believe them. Parents also said mobile phones were a silly fad, and look how that turned out.

So, you lucky reader, now you know a word that most adults don’t. Congratulations. You are cleverer than your parents. Please don’t lord it over them too much. Or do. I won’t stop you.

Back to Belle.

Belle bounded out of the bathroom, still humming about cheese. Her hair was half-wet, half-fluffy, and entirely wild, as though she’d been electrocuted by a toaster. She flopped into the kitchen chair and continued singing with all her might.

Her mum, stirring porridge, shook her head.

“Belle, darling, why are you singing about cheese?”

Belle beamed. “Because that’s what dreams are made of.”

Her mum opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had learnt, over many years, that arguing with Belle’s lyrics was like trying to argue with a cloud. Pointless, damp, and liable to make you late for work.

Her dad, behind the newspaper, muttered, “She gets it from my side of the family. My aunt once thought ‘We will, we will rock you’ was ‘We will, we will wash you.’ Took her three decades to find out.”

“See?” Belle cried triumphantly, nearly spilling orange juice on her socks. “It runs in the family!”

The dog barked again. Which may or may not have been an agreement.

Now, you might think Belle’s singing was annoying.

Her brother certainly did, judging by the way he stuffed toast in his ears. But Belle herself didn’t mind. She loved music, even when the music didn’t quite love her back. At school, Belle’s voice could always be heard above the rest of the class in choir. And not in a good way. When the others sang about holding hands across the sea, Belle was belting about “holding ham across the sea.” (A noble effort, though very messy in practice.

Her teachers told her to “tone it down.”

But Belle kept going, loud and proud, because what else could she do?

Besides, she liked her version better.

And here is the strange, wonderful thing about mondegreens: sometimes they make

MORE sense than the real words.

Cheese, bacon, ham, Lorraine in Africa, it all sounded perfectly reasonable to Belle. She lived in a world where songs were tastier, sillier, and much, much more fun.

Little did Belle know that her muddled lyrics, her misheard melodies, her gloriously wrong words, were about to cause Musical Mayhem the likes of which her school had never seen.

But that, dear reader, is for another chapter.

For now, let us leave Belle finishing her toast, humming about cheese, while her brother rolls his eyes, her mum sighs into the porridge, and the dog wags its tail because frankly, dogs don’t care about lyrics at all. They just like the singing.

And, if you’re very brave, you might even try singing Belle’s version yourself. Go on. Nice and loud.

“Sweet dreams are made of cheese…”

I dare you not to smile.