In last twenty minutes or so, have I mentioned that I play guitar?, or that I did. My Gibson J-45 is now in the possession of fruit of my loins. I played 5-string banjo and it rests next to my bed.
My stubby digits no longer pluck and plunder the quiet of God's Vale of Sweetness - Praise Him!
I bow to my betters in all things. David Bromberg stands tall on Guit-box Olympus!
A man of sense!
And one that really speaks to the authentic male - the human being with marinara- stained fashion wear, no loss for words after nine cans of Huber, or bear-trap memory when called at the bar! " Your eight year old son is and has been waiting for you at Kennedy Park - Baseball practice ended at three and it is now 4:30!"
( prgenant pause) and bluster! . . .Go, Man go!
He's fine it's a park, for Crissakes! I'm on my way! Honey, I picked up those flat-bread crackers tha. . . you (CLICK!) like. . .gotta go!
Have mentioned that I write?