We’d heard enough of the harmonica, which was when we sent our son outside to honk away.
And then closed the door.
He came in moments later and retrieved the recorder, the instrument known for its single hair-raising note, and blew with gusto til the pets shrank away and no one was sure his own name.
The one-man band was just getting going, when he requested his sister’s guitar, the thing with no living strings, the most benign of them all.
So, um…why not?
It wasn’t until we piled into the van that the concerto antithesis seemed to reach its conclusion.
we’d hardly wheeled backwards when our son whipped out the harmonica from between his legs and blew us out the garage.
Per the new sanity law…
Ain’t no harmonica today.