Oh, the Irony


I’m a musical woman. I sing, I dance, and I took many years of piano training as a kid. Since I moved out of my parents’ house coming up on eleven years ago, though, I’ve sadly had no piano. My piano sits in the basement at my folks’ house back home, and I’ve missed it. For a variety of reasons, it just hasn’t worked to bring it to the big city: I’ve been in too small a place, or a place with no suitable spot for a piano all these years.

My dear bestie called me a few weeks ago and the conversation went like this:

Bestie:  So, I need to ask you this really big favour, and it’s okay if you need to say no.

Me:  Oh no, are you okay?

Bestie:  Yeah, I’m fine. Look, I realize this is asking a lot, so I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it.

Me: What is it? You’ve done lots of favours for me.

Bestie:  Okay, so I feel really bad for asking you this, but–

Me: You’d better hurry up and ask; I’m getting nervous here.

Bestie: Can my piano live at your place for a while? My mom’s house is going to sell and I can’t put a piano in my apartment.

Me: That’s all you need?

Bestie: Yeah. I know you don’t have much extra room, but you’ll play it, and someone should enjoy it rather than it sitting in storage.

Me: Well, sure I’ll house you piano. Don’t do that to me.

Bestie: Do what to me?

Me: Ask for a favour with so much dramatic build-up. I thought you were going to ask me for a kidney or something!

So, today three rather burly men wrestled a piano up the front steps and into the dollhouse. It’s over one hundred years old, but the piano is a stately old gal.

Isn't she lovely? Isn't she wonderful?

She’s going to live in the back bedroom where I have my desk covered in a variety of crap office, and I’ve already decided that the turquoise walls bring out the colour of her wood grain. I’m excited to have her for a houseguest.

The kicker to all this? My hand is still no good to me. Last night, I stretched my paw out to flip off a light switch, and pulled one of my sutures. It stung like Frank’s Red Hot on road rash. Clearly, I won’t be doing much with that hand for quite a while yet.

There is a beautiful piano in my house, and I can’t do a thing with it. It’s cruel. Heal already, hand. Pretty please?

copyright 2011:  http://bluespeckledpup.com

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