Ten days ago, I’d never heard of Benson Boone. 

Good Morning America threw him up at the end of their opening sequence, all wiry Timothy Olyphant frame and pornstache. 

Not that I’d know. 

Who’s that guy? I thought. Why is GMA acting like I know who he is? 

Because I don’t.  

And I planned to keep it that way. 

I mean, planned is a strong word. I gave Benson Boone very little thought. I went to Montana. I ate bear fat biscuits.  

But when I got home, there was Benson Boone on GMA again.  

Does, um, does somebody at GMA owe Benson Boone money? Because y’all talk about him a lot. 

Good Morning America played a little clip from Benson Boone’s new music video. The video has a wraparound story, kind of like the kid held by the cannibal in Tales From the Darkside: The Movie. 

Except, you know, no cannibalism.  

Benson Boone’s wraparound story — it’s funny. Self-deprecating. A little wink and nod. 

I laughed out loud. 

And, well, I’m a sucker for a funny guy. 

So I pulled up the video on my phone. 

The song is called “Mr. Electric Blue.” 

Listen. I can’t say I feel good — at my age — digging a poppy song performed by a guy in a blue jumpsuit with an obviously waxed, well, everything. 

But “Mr. Electric Blue” is my jam. 

“Do you know who this Benson Boone is?” I asked my teenage son because — let’s be honest. Benson Boone is closer to my kid’s age than mine. 

“Yeah,” my kid said.  

So I played “Mr. Electric Blue” for him.  

We danced around the kitchen while Benson Boone mocked his rep for backflips and my dog waited impatiently for his morning chicken. 

Morning chicken, by the way, is a band name.  

“He’s known for his backflips,” my son said.  

Like I couldn’t figure that out by the chiseled torso. 

My son played one of Benson Boone’s hits, “Mystical Magical.” 

Uh, yeah. I’m into “Mystical Magical,” too. 

“It sounds like ‘Let’s Get Physical,’” I said.  

Which made me laugh. Indy had a huge crush on Olivia Newton-John in her “Let’s Get Physical” days.  

If you gave me all day to think about it, I still wouldn’t be able to come up with Benson Boone — waxed, spangly, ’70s-‘stached Benson Boone — reminding me of United States Marine and HVAC repairman Indy. 

Then he did it again. 

My son played Benson Boone’s hit “Beautiful Things.” 

“For a while there it was rough,” Benson sang. “But lately I’ve been doing better/Than the last four cold Decembers … ” 

Um, what? 

You guys might recall that December has been a cruel mistress in my house.  

For, um, exactly the last four Decembers. 

What the heck, Benson Boone? First “Let’s Get Physical,” then my life? Exactly how much are you going to co-opt? 

By the way, BB — can I call you BB? Because I’m pretty sure you’re following me around, writing songs about my life. I feel like I warrant the closeness of a nickname — The Washington Post agrees that “Mystical Magical” sounds like “Let’s Get Physical.” 

So do my kids.  

My son texted me the other day from Six Flags, where he was hanging with my daughter. “She agrees,” he wrote, “that ‘Mystical Magical’ sounds like ‘Let’s Get Physical.’” 

I laughed out loud again. Which, now that I’m typing that, makes me realize I laugh out loud a lot.  

Maybe that shouldn’t be my measure of a person. Not if I give it out so freely. 

“What did our children do now?” my husband asked when he heard my chuckle. 

“Oh, nothing,” I said. I explained about the two songs. “I’m in my Benson Boone phase,” I concluded. 

“Who’s Benson Boone?” my husband said. 

Exactly. Ten days ago, I didn’t even know who he was. Now I’m wasting precious alone time with my husband dissecting Benson Boone lyrics like he’s Geoffrey Chaucer. 

Now that I’m in a full-on Benson Boone hole — I have a Benson Boone playlist; that’s how far off the rails this thing has gone — I’m listening to more of his music. 

Huh. “Momma Song.” 

“Momma, I’m missing home / Tell me your story / ’Cause I’m gonna need this / When I’m holding pictures of you and that’s all that I’ve got left.” 

Hi. 

Have I mentioned the particular cruelty of a universe that takes your dad, gives your mom dementia, and sends your kid off to college in a very emotional 18 months? 

I am, of course, so proud of my kid, I’d bust right through Benson Boone’s jumpsuit if it tried to contain my joy. But nothing makes you evaluate your life like packing up your parents’ stuff and your kids’ stuff in one linear autumn. 

That Benson Boone is singing about my mid-life crisis when he’s, like, 12 years old and doesn’t even know me is only intensifying said mid-life crisis. Have I matured so little in my life that some dude born the year I was married gets me? 

Yeah, I know when Benson Boone was born. I told you. I’m in my Benson Boone phase. 

“Mr. Electric Blue,” my boy BB says. “I wanna dance like you / How did you get so cool? / You let the good times roll.”

Maybe that’s the key here. Listen to Benson Boone. Dance. Let the good times roll. I was happy, dancing in my kitchen with my kid. Despite the last four Decembers. 

Mr. Electric Blue, well. I believe in you.