Easter Dinner

Before eating, my mother painstakingly played Jingle Bells on the piano, showing how well her lessons were paying off. She went back into the kitchen and I started playing Scarborough Fair, which was simple considering all the notes in the book had letters on them and all the keys had clear stickers with corresponding letters. So really, it was just like typing. Right around “true love of mine,” my mother comes back into the living room and asks where I learned to play. I tell her I was just messing around. She then asks if I want to take lessons with her. As I ponder having to spend any more time at my mother’s house than I have to, she says, “It can be arranged.” She said it so seriously; as though she were a Mafia boss and I had just asked to have somebody whacked. In the end, I gave her a noncommittal “maybe” and told her to get her ass back in the kitchen.

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