Dear Guitar,
Where to begin?! You know how much I love you, and I know you get hungry from time to time, but you really do have to stop eating my guitar picks.
It was easy to get them out of my old guitar, as she was acoustic. But you, being electro-acoustic, have all these confusing wires inside you and sometimes my plectrums get caught up in them, meaning I shall never see them again in my life, unless I shake you to death.
Now, I don’t want to have to shake you to get them out, because I don’t want to break you. You were too expensive for me to treat you that way. Besides, I really don’t want to give you some kind of concussion, as I like the way you sound – Especially your E-Minor.
So next time I’m jamming away to O’Children, please don’t swallow my favourite pick, because I will cry. I did have three. I’m now down to two.
I’d appreciate it if you’d spit it out and let me use it again. You know that’s the only one I can play with.
Another issue I’d like to discuss is the way I treat you. I can’t say sorry enough for the way I leave you lying around against furniture and accidentally whacking you against cabinets and chests of drawers when trying to put you back in your allocated stand, which is next to my rather messy clothes pile. I’m also sorry that I use you as a coat rack for bras, tops, and various other clothing types.
I shall make it up to you one day, I promise.
Love, Tasha
P.S. I’m sorry about the amount of dust you collected in the three days I completely ignored your existence. But I dusted you and apologised, and it will never happen again.
P.P.S. I’m sorry for all the sexual innuendos involved above. And for my rather unclean mind…
Where to begin?! You know how much I love you, and I know you get hungry from time to time, but you really do have to stop eating my guitar picks.
It was easy to get them out of my old guitar, as she was acoustic. But you, being electro-acoustic, have all these confusing wires inside you and sometimes my plectrums get caught up in them, meaning I shall never see them again in my life, unless I shake you to death.
Now, I don’t want to have to shake you to get them out, because I don’t want to break you. You were too expensive for me to treat you that way. Besides, I really don’t want to give you some kind of concussion, as I like the way you sound – Especially your E-Minor.
So next time I’m jamming away to O’Children, please don’t swallow my favourite pick, because I will cry. I did have three. I’m now down to two.
I’d appreciate it if you’d spit it out and let me use it again. You know that’s the only one I can play with.
Another issue I’d like to discuss is the way I treat you. I can’t say sorry enough for the way I leave you lying around against furniture and accidentally whacking you against cabinets and chests of drawers when trying to put you back in your allocated stand, which is next to my rather messy clothes pile. I’m also sorry that I use you as a coat rack for bras, tops, and various other clothing types.
I shall make it up to you one day, I promise.
Love, Tasha
P.S. I’m sorry about the amount of dust you collected in the three days I completely ignored your existence. But I dusted you and apologised, and it will never happen again.
P.P.S. I’m sorry for all the sexual innuendos involved above. And for my rather unclean mind…
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