Damn you, Macklemore. I'd already put you in a box, slammed the lid down and sealed it shut with nine inch nails. I didn't want to know. I didn't care. I'd given up on you. It was something about those faux fur jackets, ridiculous wigs or that time you inexplicably dressed up as a Mariachi band member for the White Walls video. Why? Explain yourself, Macklemore. EXPLAIN YOURSELF.
The last straw was your Auckland concert. I hated it. It was a hip-hop show for people who don't actually like hip-hop. I walked out of there swearing I'd never listen to you and your cheeseball rappy raps ever again.
But your new song got to me. No excuses. It was a bad day. I'd been overseas for a while. I was missing my daughter. Yes, I was missing my son, too, but he can handle me being away as long as I bring back lots of Star Wars Lego. My daughter's a bit too young for me to buy her love with X-Wing fighters just yet. She only knows if I'm around, or if I'm not. And on this day I wasn't. And I hadn't been for a while. And I was feeling guilty about it.
And then I heard your new song, Growing Up (Sloane's Song). You know the one, that simple ballad with Ed Sheeran providing bursts of acoustic wailing while Macklemore sings to his newborn daughter, promising to be "a good dad" while worrying about touring too much and whether he's treating her mum right.
It's a ridiculous song. Who rhymes "alchemist" with "calculus"? And it's not like I can relate to it. I don't even go overseas that much. I certainly don't walk around stages in front of thousands of people wearing stupid jackets and stupid wigs with Ed Sheeran wailing in the background. At least, I don't think I have. But, like I said, it was a bad day. I was missing my family. And Macklemore's song snuck in there like a sneaky little finger prodding me in the ribs and making a rare tear leak out of my eye. I'm not proud of it. It won't happen again.
Get back in your box, Macklemore, I need to nail this lid down again. And this time, I'm using bigger nails.