They were at church. He was practicing with the praise band. His position in the praise band is very eclectic. He sings some, he plays a rhythm drum, occasionally blows on a trumpet, and has even been known to shake his hinny tambourine. Last night was no different.
She was snapping photographs. That’s one of the things she does to pass the time when she attends practice with him. Everyone has gotten used to ignoring Her. Perhaps He has gotten too used to ignoring her.
She said, “I like the way the tambourine is hanging off your trumpet. That would make a good photograph, especially with the sun glinting off the brass like that.”
He said, “That trumpet is a very expensive tambourine holder, but it seems to work.”
She said, “There’s a sunbeam coming in through the window and spotlighting it. It would make a great photograph but I don’t want your legs in the picture.”
He said, “I need the tambourine where it’s easy to grab.”
She stared at him. He looked at her quizzically, wondering why she looked annoyed. She pointed her index finger at him, moved her hand to the right and clearly enunciated, “Move!” He stepped aside. She snapped the pic. The sunbeam was gone. The tambourine no longer glowed, and, Lenora, one of the back up singers in the band, was giggling.
She looked at Lenora and said, “I don’t know why I try to be subtle. He doesn’t get hints. If I want him to respond I need to be direct and to the point.”
Lenora commiserated. “My husband is the same way. I think all men are. I doubt they know any other way to communicate. ”
She agreed. “All they want are the facts. Nice and simple.”
He said, “That’s not fair! We text and we email. We’ve moved beyond just the fax.”
She groaned. Lenora snatched her microphone off the stand and swung. He put his hands up. Lenora pretended to bludgeon him. The music director yelled, “Hey! This is a church! If you two have to fight, don’t damage the equipment!”
Lenora paused, stared at her microphone for a moment, then carefully returned it to the stand. She resumed the faux-bludgeoning with her fist.
The music director said, “Thank you. That’s much better. Now, do I need to call you lawyer, or can we finish this practice?
He said, “Well, you can call me a lawyer if you wish, but I usually only respond to my name.”
The music director took a deep breath, adjusted his guitar and began to count, “And a one and a two …”