In June 2006, I bought Hubby a guitar for his birthday.
He didn’t know how to play, but he had always wanted to learn. I bought him an instruction manual and he planned to take some lessons. I find Hubby quite sexy when he sings. In fact, I think I may have first fallen in love with him while watching him sing “Better Man” with a friend at a Karaoke party. I figured a guitar would be an excellent investment all round…
Unfortunately, the guitar has done nothing more than gather dust for the last six and a half years until last weekend when Hubby finally decided the time had come to learn to play the darned thing.
An appropriate app was downloaded forthwith, and on Saturday afternoon while the kids had a nap, Hubby and I spent an hour or so learning how to play. Our instructor is a lovely American chap who doesn’t mind a joke and makes everything seem easy. We only know two chords so far (E minor and A in case you’re interested), but we’re hooked.
Or at least, I’m hooked…
Hubby insists his fingers are too large to manoeuvre effectively around the strings and questions his future playing potential. I, on the other hand, had to be called for dinner at least three times on Sunday night before I finally put down the guitar, dawdled reluctantly out of the bedroom, and slumped myself down at the kitchen table.
For the second time in six months, Hubby has had occasion to liken me to a teenage boy. Not the comparison one would wish one’s husband to make, ideally. Added to which, I cannot help but suspect that my singing does not hold the same sex appeal for Hubby as his does for me.
So sadly, the original intent behind the guitar purchase has been somewhat undermined. The image I had of Hubby’s skilful guitar play and soulful singing driving me wild with desire has been replaced by a frightful vision of me singing Kumbaya around a campfire to the extreme discomfort of my family and anyone else within earshot.
For now, though, I am going to keep up the lessons if for no other reason than that I’m intrigued to see how many times I can get away with playing the guitar in the bedroom until dinner’s on the table. Plus, the fact that I no longer have any feeling in the fingertip of my left index finger somehow (against all reason) makes me feel just a little bit cool…
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