Daddy, is it ok if I ask you something?
The Little Lady looked at me and chewed her lips somewhat nervously as if she had killed a pig at school and forgot to bring home the bacon.
Of course you can, darling. You can ask me anything!
I threw my hands to the side magnanimously. Being part of the Amazing Parent club meant I could do this up to three times a day without fear of censure.
You know the School Christmas concert? Well, parents who can play an instrument are invited to come along and play.
She tossed me a beseeching smile.
So, if you are free on Monday, can you come to the rehearsal? I told them you were amazing.
She poked me with a finger and chuckled.
Hot flaming shits?! What? What was this? A School Concert? Parents to bang away at random instruments in the background to a gaggle of kids screeching? I did not like the sound of this one little bit.
Um, I suppose I could? What songs are you singing? Is there any info I could have in advance?
I tried to sound as if it wasn't a big deal and I wasn't shitting my pants at the thought of going in cold and playing random songs that I didn't know.
Oh, I can't remember the songs. Wait, one of them is Believer! Can you play that?
She started hopping from foot to foot and singing the word Believer over and over again to no discernible tune.
Hmm. I am not sure that I am familiar with that one. Have you seen any other parents doing it? Did they get like told what to play? Chords or something?
I felt a cold and clammy fear sweat trickle down my back as if I was sitting on a plane at 40,000 feet and it looked like something was on the wing tearing at the engine.
Oh, you mean the music? Yes! There are music sheets! Don't worry about that. I said you could read music perfectly.
With that, she trotted off still singing the one word Believer over and over again.
I gulped. Music? Like sheet music? I couldn't read music. I was a fucking guitarist. Sheet music was for wankers. Everyone knew that?!
Didn't they?
At that moment the Good Lady entered the room and stopped as she saw my face.
What's up with you? You look a bit deflated.
She gave me a bit of a kick as that is obviously well-known as the best way to gee up anyone out of any medical condition.
The Little Lady has asked me to go along to her School Christmas Choir thing and play guitar with some other parents.
I tried to smile but my face just wobbled a bit.
You love playing guitar! That will be amazing!
The Good Lady clucked happily as if she could sense that the next egg popping out of her fanjasm was going to be a hassle-free slider.
Yeah but I don't know what we are playing. The Little Lady said there would be sheet music?!
I tried not to wail but my voice rose up at the end like a vengeful ghost's penis.
So, what is wrong with that? I mean surely you can read sheet music. You play the guitar don't you?
Her tone was dismissive as if I were one of many husbands and perhaps if I displeased her I would be thrown to the dogs.
and not the good dogs either.
Of course I can't read sheet music?! I am a fucking Guitarist. Why would a guitarist ever want to read sheet music? I am not fucking Beethoven, I don't play the fucking oboe?!
I flailed a hand out to a nearby guitar which clanged quietly in agreement.
Oooooo is this a chip on your shoulder? Is this something that bothers you?
The Good Lady gleamed with pounciness as if finally after all these years sensing a weakness that she could work on until I broke into a million pieces.
No, only wankers read sheet music and I, lady, am not a wanker.
I emphasised my point with a sulky hmmph.
She crooked an eyebrow.
Oh well, better get wanking, Monday isn't far off.
She stepped away humming Believer as she went.
I grunted unhappily.
Fucking sheet music. Who on earth reads sheet music?
*Note to anyone reading this who reads music. You are not a wanker. Not really.
