Dear Tom, and all other non-musicians,
I'm sorry that every, every, every, time you come to one of my parties, friendly, cheerful, socially adventurous, you end up sitting by yourself on the couch while everyone else, inevitably, ends up in an impromptu jam session. I'm sorry that all we can do is offer you the weak solace of 'you can play percussion,' handing you two sticks or a bell or soup pan. We know that even though you may be out of your element in King of Swing or McDermot's Reel, you're actually a very smart, creative person. Really.
So please don't feel you have to wash the dishes by yourself in the kitchen.
But thanks, they're sparkling.
x
e
1 comment:
Tom Dishes Mcgee.. I totally missed that off my suggested cat names. Aww.. well Tom writes great poetry, so I reckon he's got to be bad at something. Still, your dishes were sparkling indeed, and now I have a lot of ibruprofen in my system...
EC
(Edwin Clawhammer)
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