“You never write. You never call. Whenever I accomplish something you never say anything. You don’t take me out for dinner. No movies either.
“I mean I finally got that Tony Rice style down pat on the guitar. And even if I do say so myself, I have a good voice, at least for bluegrass singing. And when I play and sing to what I think is perfection, you just sit there. And don’t give me that line from the song, ‘You say it best when you say nothing at all.’ No. That doesn’t cut-it with me.
“Oh sure, I know that we get used to things and each other, and familiarity reduces the impact. But at least you could comment once in a while on what you think. You know, it doesn’t have to be about bluegrass stuff, but other stuff. Anything! At least occasionally.
“And then I bought you that banjo, and 20 lessons, and you know what? That banjo just sat in the case. It’s been a year, and that 5-string Gibson, 1937 prewar with the flathead tone ring hasn’t even seen the light of day for 365 days. Some people would take out a second mortgage on their house just to buy one. And you got it for free. I think at least you’d do something with it during the Fathers’ Day Festival at Grass Valley. But no, no, you’d rather not even go near the 5-string wonder.
“And when it’s my birthday, or Christmas, do I get a present from you? No! Look, I know we’ve been together for over ten years, and we’ve gotten used to each other, but you never buy me anything. I don’t know, maybe we should see a counselor. Of course I think it’d be hard on the counselor dealing you. Well, wait, I know it would be hard for a therapist to deal with your stuff.
“To be honest, I know we do some stuff together. But when we take a trip I always have to drive the car. Always! And frankly, I’m getting worried about you.
“Seems to me you hear things that I don’t hear, and it makes me nervous. I mean we’ll be listening to the radio, and all of a sudden you’ll react to something that I don’t think is even there. You’re jumpy, and it seems like you’re always on guard, and on the alert. Edgy, that’s it. And when I ask you what’s wrong, you never respond. As a matter of fact, it seems like I do all the talking.
“And what about all of those Bluegrass Album Band CDs? Yes, all six of them. Okay, I’ll admit I bought them for me, but you listen too. And do you ever say thanks for playing them? No.
“And dinner. Don’t get me started on dinner. Or breakfast or lunch. Do you ever make a meal for me? No. Heck no. You’d think that once in a while, oh, never mind. It’s frustration just thinking and evaluating all this stuff. But enough is enough. I’m going to bed and think long and hard on this. Maybe something, or some kind of answer will come to me in a dream. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.
“Okay, okay. I had a good night’s sleep, and an answer came to me. In fact I think I need to apologize to you for everything I said earlier. In fact I do sincerely apologize.
“I never should have expected so much from a Bluetic Coonhound. That said, I still expect you to play that banjo. After all, it is tuned to open G!”
