monsieur claus

In fifth grade, I thought I wanted a moped for Christmas.  But Santa knows a 10-year-old girl better than she knows herself.  Or maybe he doesn't...
because I got a banjo.

For 30 years, I never touched it.  But looking back, maybe it was simply bad timing.  That was the year I discovered French kissing.  Oh, I wasn't practicing it, and there weren't any offers, but hours were devoted to figuring out whether it was real or a myth.  And if it was real, did my parents know about it?  If so, why were they still obsessed with me not drinking after people?
And also, the choreography...where did the tongues go?  I mean exactly.  Keep still or move them around?  How so - in a circle?  High-fiving in the middle?  
There was a lot to consider.
All of it gross, but fascinating.

In summary, I blame the French for my shaky D chord today.


 
 
[Eventually, I got the moped too, but I didn't want to flaunt that and come off like some fancy alcoholic man jetting around town on his Peugeot].

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