Thursdays are long, LONG days. Thursday is day two of teaching up north, which means nine hours of instruction without a break. Seven of those hours I am planted on a hard, uncomfortable piano bench: playing, encouraging, threatening, praising, and berating...whatever is needed. The other two hours I am in a classroom lecturing and demonstrating. Although I love teaching, by Thursday night, I'm one tired soprano.
And then what do I do? I make the hour drive home and go to choir practice.
I'd tell you I do this because of my grand and glorious dedication to the Lord and to church music, but I can guarantee a large number people would leave comments calling me a big fat liar. Although somewhere in my list of motives this is true, a big reason I go to church choir because Scout is there. Since we are both way too busy for our own good, I'm generally willing to go sing for another hour and a half with the promise of a little company and a tall beverage post-rehearsal. And for that, I love The Lord.
Tonight Scout and I actually sat next to each other, which proved to do nothing but get me into trouble. Me. But Scout? Never. Boy Scouts do no wrong, but Sopranos are trouble with a capitol "T" that rhymes with "P" that rhymes with damn proud of it too. At one point, Scout had me laughing so hard in the middle of MY solo, I couldn't make it through the last page of the piece.
Bad, bad Scout.
Towards the end of rehearsal, the choir went into the church to go through Sunday's piece. As I was chatting with Mensch, we noticed the basses are walking over to OUR side of the church. When we started protesting about the intruders, the director looked at me, and then Scout and said, "But...I thought...I thought you would like..."
I looked at Scout down at the other side of the row and said, "Well, sure I'd like...if he were over here next to me!"
The director started shaking his head and said (in reference to tonight's rehearsal), "Oh no! I've seen what happens when you two are together."
Without thinking, I shot back, "Oh no you HAVEN'T."
Based on the howls of the women around me, I guessed I said that a little too loudly.
"There a special place in hell..." especially when sung with jazz hands.
And that? Wasn't even the worst part of rehearsal. It's all about the cobwebs.
The unthinking retorts are ever the best!
Hahahahahaha, great response, Tuna!
sorry I missed it and look forward to hearing more of such sass talk!
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