musical youth
firstly, let me say yay! you picked my idea!

ok, now for the story.

when i was but a little smash, i would take my pocket money to the charity shop around the corner, usually to spend it on books.
one day, however, something else caught my eye: a guitar. it was battered, tatty, scratched and had only 3 strings but, to my young eyes, it was a thing of near-ethereal beauty. i purchased it immediately, before running home, clutching my bounty to my chest. this was my first musical instrument that didn't have brightly-coloured keys and a plinky-plonky sound. i caressed it lovingly, imagining the beautiful music we would make together.

i arrived home, breathless and red in the face, to be greeted by my mother.
"what is THAT?" she demanded, pointing to my new pride and joy.
"'s a guitar. 's mine. i bought it." i replied, feeling a little apprehensive at her less than rapturous reaction.
"if you think you're playing that thing in here, you're wrong! get it out of here!" she bellowed.
this may seem a tad harsh, but i was notorious for filling the house with useless shite, so it was hardly surprising that she wasn't keen to house another of my bargains.
undeterred, i took my guitar to the shed, where i spent three ecstatically happy hours strumming out a strangled-cat concerto on its three badly-tuned strings. it was just me and my guitar, together in the fight against parental tyranny.
soon, however, it was time for bath and bed. i locked the shed door, leaving my beloved inside and headed into the house.
bed time wasn't a fight that night, i was far too happy. i clambered beneath the sheets and drifted off, dreaming of future performances in front of adoring fans.

next morning, i bolted my breakfast and raced out to the shed, impatient to be near my 3-stringed love again.
i opened the door of the shed.
it was gone.
my guitar was gone.
i'm sure my howls could be heard at least 5 miles away. who could have done this to me? obviously, i was the victim of international musical instrument thieves. they would pay, oh yes, they would pay!
my sobs brought my mother racing from the house. "what's wrong? you're not crying over that ratty old guitar, are you?" i sniffed and nodded my head. "well, there's no point crying," she told me, "i gave it to the bin men this morning."
i was shocked. how could she be so callous, so heartless? did she not realise that my guitar meant everything to me? "don't look at me like that!" she snapped. "you only got it yesterday and you couldn't even play it!"
what a bitch!

i got my own back, though. i "accidentally" lost her favourite butterfly brooch.
don't fuck with me, mother, i hold a grudge for YEARS.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 21:35, 2 replies)

Well of course you couldn't play
But you might have been a famous guitarist given half a chance and now she would be living it up with you.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Fri 15 Aug 2008, 22:36, closed)

i'll have the last laugh
when i get my book published and become rich and famous, i'll laugh in her face.

can't you tell she's pissed me off today? ;)
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 15 Aug 2008, 23:16, closed)