When I was younger, I was very promiscuous.
I remember as a toddler, my mother would dress me up in frilly outfits and take me to the park, only to watch in horror as I’d rip off my clothes and run through the sprinklers in my underwear.
I had a thing for older men. The older the better. One man was sixty years my senior. His name was Grandpa. I’d sit on Grandpa’s knee and flutter my eyelashes as he told me stories about the good old days. I gave him sloppy wet kisses. He gave me dollar bills and scotch mints from his pocket. He also let me hold his dentures. It was really romantic.
The summer before I entered high school, my parents sent me away to a Christian music camp. Camp Kenosee’s motto was “Play it, don’t pray it. God wants the tunes, not the blather.”
It was there that I discovered my passion for woodwind instruments. From the first moment my lips touched the headjoint of my erect wooden recorder, I knew it was fate. Soon, I was tonguing the shaft like a seasoned professional.
From there, I went on to learn the skin flute. Then the hairy clarinet. After that, the flesh trumpet.
My music teacher was very supportive. Mr. Burgess told me that because of my tremendous talent I shouldn’t limit myself to one instrument. He said that in doing so, I was denying other instruments the chance to be played by me. He even offered to give me private lessons to help me hone my craft. He said he could watch me play for hours.
Eventually it came time for me to wrap my talented lips around a bigger, denser instrument. That’s when I started playing the beef whistle.
By the time I got to high school I had made quite the name for myself. The football team would ask me to play for them in the boys’ locker room after practice. I’m not going to lie, the pink panflute was my most challenging instrument to date. But 0nce I got the hang of it I could play for hours.
Sadly, my dreams of turning my passion into a career ended when I developed a severe case of lock jaw. After surgery, my mouth was wired shut for four months. The only good thing to come of it was that I was finally able to fit back into my favorite pair of Osh Kosh overalls.
I decided to cut my losses and go into medicine. Turns out I had a gift for that as well. In less than six months I had earned my “Medical Office Assistant” certificate. It took my classmates almost eight.
These days, I only play on special occasions. Like a co-worker’s stag. Or, the annual staff Christmas gathering. When I hear the Doctors yell “Round of hummer for the boys!” I know that’s my cue.
At my last performance evaluation, my boss offered me a promotion. Now I have the added responsibility of learning the rusty trombone.
It looks like I’m going to have to invest in some new knee pads if I want to continue to climb the corporate ladder.