Gift of the Magi
Back when we first met, about 500 years ago, my main squeeze was a rock 'n' roll superstar. Or at any rate, he was fulfilling his "I'm in a band" credit required for graduation from UT Austin. It was great dating a guy in a band. I would try to initiate fights and do hysterical things so that he would maybe write a song about me. I tried to figure out which songs were about me. Basically, for me—it was all about me.
But the day his guitar was stolen out of the car a few years ago was the Day the Music Died.
Therefore, I decided to be an Amazing Girlfriend this Christmas and get him a new guitar so that he could commence writing songs about me. As a side perk, I would thus also have access to a guitar. I am no rock 'n' roll superstar, but I hope it is not bragging if I suggest that I am an off-key warbling folk goddess. (I used to fantasize about finding a small town where all the inhabitants were tone-deaf and adored my renditions of CSN&Y classics.)
The plan was in motion. Blogless Erik joined me on a trip to the guitar store to pick out a suitable model, and he was sworn to secrecy. The gig was nearly up at Catherine and Tommy's Christmas party when a friend started to ask Kriston about his new guitar. But I gave her the "shut the hell up!" face before she revealed anything, and she managed to shimmy and shuffle and soft-shoe her way out of that conversation with no harm done. Somehow I managed to preserve secrecy, even as I honed my pickin' skills on his present. (You know. Just to make sure it worked). It was exciting. He's going to be so suprised! I thought. Maybe he'll even write a song about it!
But the joke was on me, or rather on us. Because at present-exchanging time, we both looked slack-jawed as each of us gripped in hand a brand-new guitar hand-picked for the other one. Reality only set in with the chorus of laughs coming from my sister and Erik, who had accompanied both of us separately to the guitar store without blowing the joke.
I haven't yet fully recovered from the supreme lameness of us, but when I do, you better watch out for our debut emo folk album coming soon to discount bins near you.
But the day his guitar was stolen out of the car a few years ago was the Day the Music Died.
Therefore, I decided to be an Amazing Girlfriend this Christmas and get him a new guitar so that he could commence writing songs about me. As a side perk, I would thus also have access to a guitar. I am no rock 'n' roll superstar, but I hope it is not bragging if I suggest that I am an off-key warbling folk goddess. (I used to fantasize about finding a small town where all the inhabitants were tone-deaf and adored my renditions of CSN&Y classics.)
The plan was in motion. Blogless Erik joined me on a trip to the guitar store to pick out a suitable model, and he was sworn to secrecy. The gig was nearly up at Catherine and Tommy's Christmas party when a friend started to ask Kriston about his new guitar. But I gave her the "shut the hell up!" face before she revealed anything, and she managed to shimmy and shuffle and soft-shoe her way out of that conversation with no harm done. Somehow I managed to preserve secrecy, even as I honed my pickin' skills on his present. (You know. Just to make sure it worked). It was exciting. He's going to be so suprised! I thought. Maybe he'll even write a song about it!
But the joke was on me, or rather on us. Because at present-exchanging time, we both looked slack-jawed as each of us gripped in hand a brand-new guitar hand-picked for the other one. Reality only set in with the chorus of laughs coming from my sister and Erik, who had accompanied both of us separately to the guitar store without blowing the joke.
I haven't yet fully recovered from the supreme lameness of us, but when I do, you better watch out for our debut emo folk album coming soon to discount bins near you.
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