Some of you may not know that I teach piano lessons. I have been teaching since I was in sixth grade and I can honestly say that I really enjoy it. However, there are times that teaching piano lessons can go horribly horribly wrong. This is about one of those times...
When I was in high school I had at least 20 students at a time. Some of those students loved me, some of them hated me. One of those latter students was a little boy that we will call Bobby. Bobby hated piano lessons. Thinking back on those lessons together, I don't really blame him. Not only was poor Bobby stuck taking a lesson from me once a week, but immediately after that lesson, I would go to his house and babysit him and his brother while his parents went out on a date. Poor poor Bobby.
Anywho...On this particular fateful night, his parents got us a large garlicky delicious pizza to eat before our lessons began and lets just say that after I consumed my portion, my breath smelled less than fresh. It was time to begin our lesson and since Bobby was already being dragged over to the piano by his mother, I thought I wouldn't add to his agony by being forced to smell my horrible garlic breath.
On my way over to the piano I found a packet of those little Listerine strips sitting on the counter. I had never tried them before but since they promised "cool mint" breath I thought I would give them a shot. I grabbed a couple, sat down and gave Bobby some beginning instructions before I put them in my mouth.
Me: "Ok Bobby, let's check your music theory first before we get started."
Bobby: "I didn't do it"
Me: "Um ok. How about we do it together?"
Bobby: "(grumble grumble grumble)"
Me: "How 'bout we kneel on the floor and use the piano bench as a table"
Bobby: "(grumble grumble grumble)"
As he opened his book and begrudgingly worked on his theory assignment, I decided it would be the perfect time to stick about 4 of those thin little pieces of magical freshness on my unsuspecting tongue.
Those who know me, know that I am extremely sensitive to tastes/smells. I've been known to wig out over a sip of lemonade. Let's not forget my aversion to pico de gallo. No matter how sissy my taste buds are, I've never had a reaction like this.
The moment those little babies hit my tongue, my mouth flooded with saliva faster than bird bath in a monsoon. Instantly my eyes, nose and mouth started pouring drool. I couldn't swallow fast enough. It literally took everything I had to not aspirate on my own spit. It sounds a lot prettier than it actually was, trust me on this.
Bobby, completely absorbed in his own misery, seemed to not notice my drowning next to him.
Bobby: "How many beats does a dotted half note get?"
I tried to open my mouth to answer, but instead of an audible response all Bobby got was Niagara Falls.
Yep. I drooled. ON. HIS. HAND.
It was as though I took the biggest drink of water possible, placed my face directly over his hand and simply opened my mouth.
The poor kid, with eyes wider than saucers, looked at his hand and then looked at me in complete and utter horror.
Bobby: "DID YOU JUST DROOL ON ME?!!!"
I, of course, did what anyone would do, I took his hand and attempted to dry it off on my pants the best I possibly could. I don't think that helped matters because he immediately stood up and started wailing. It was then that I noticed his dad had been standing at the head of the piano. Watching us. The entire time.
Needless to say, Bobby never had to take another piano lesson, and I've never eaten another piece of pizza. Half of that statement is true.
