At Henry’s guitar lesson this afternoon, I saw the chatty, unfortunate mom from last week. She is always attempting to attend guitar class with the teens. She enters like she’s just another pupil. The teacher has learned her tricks and now asks the moms to wait in the lobby before class starts. I don’t know if she’s just a clingy mom or she’s hoping she too can learn the guitar under the guise of being in class for her daughter. Not to be sexist but you never see dads trying to sneak in to class. They seem to have more easily accepted their role as chauffeur. Not friend, not partner, just the driver.

I really prefer the Tuesday class to the Monday one. The Monday class runs concurrent with the little kids ukulele class. I can hear the bearded, overly enthusiastic instructor playing and singing silly songs for them in his cartoony voice perfectly clearly, from the lobby. This group was part of last semester’s recital so I know these little kids don’t actually play the ukulele. They just strum one chord, or stare into space with the instrument in their laps while he belts out “Over the Rainbow” and “Wonderful World” over them. At first I found him, and the class, charming but now it just annoys me. I much prefer the aging, jaded, rock guy teachers. Enthusiasm is so exhausting, even one other people.

I was fiddling for something in my purse today and something yellow rubbed on to my hand and now I’m seeing yellow spots everywhere. I rubbed it off with an alcohol pad from my purse but it still seems to be spreading, leaving urine colored fingerprints in its path. I still don’t know what this mystery substance is as there is nothing yellow in my purse.