Jeff the Musician was at my house last night. He wanted to share with me a new song he had written but he didn't have his guitar with him. He was disgusted with us for not having an acceptable alternate instrument.
"I could go get my accordion," Gretchen offered.
There were a few seconds of silence then, slowly, every head in the room turned toward her.
"I'm sorry, your what?" I asked, dumbfounded that I could live with someone for so long and still be so unaware of her musical holdings.
"Uh, my accordion?" she repeated, disappearing into the basement. She was greeted with squeals and applause on her return a few minutes later, laden with a dusty accordion.
The apparatus was passed around the room; all of us immediate children, giggling as we pushed buttons and made funny noises. Keith called in the middle of my (fantastic) composition. He asked, "Hey, what are you up to?"
"Uh, I'm playing a freakin' accordion, that's what I'm up to."
He paused and then said, "Hang on, you're pla . . . what? Where are you?"
"I'm on my couch, Keith," I said. "I am on my couch playing an accordion. Can you even deal with that awesome?"
Then I put him on speakerphone so he could hear me play the accordion because I didn't want him to think I'm one of those girls who will tell people on the phone that she's playing an accordion when she's really not. You know the type.
He told me it was the best accordion music he'd heard all day*. Aww, shucks.
*Did you just think of Roy from Season 3 of The Office, too? "Your art was the prettiest art of all the art."