A Girl and Her Instrument

Story Sent in by Kathleen:

I met Mark during a big annual public music fest that my town puts on. He was on a keyboard and I was carrying my piccolo, looking for some cool people. I played with him and his little group for a while and we wound up talking.

It was a good chat and I liked him. He asked me if he could try my piccolo, saying that he had always wanted to learn it. Admittedly, I'm very anal about who I let put their mouth on my instrument (ha ha) and especially so after I contracted mono in college from a guy with whom I shared an instrument. I gave him the short version of that story as reasoning as to why I felt better if he didn't. He said it was cool, and we moved on from there.

We had a successful first date. He was respectful and funny, and he told me all about how he had toured around Europe, playing music. Again, he asked me if he could ever play my piccolo and again I told him that we'd just have to wait and see.

On our second date, we planned a night in at my place. We cooked dinner, and as he had brought his keyboard over, we played some music for each other on our respective instruments.

Then we settled in to watch a movie. Just after it began, he excused himself to use the bathroom. I paused the film and waited for him to return.

When he did, he was wearing a big grin and the piccolo was sticking out of his pants, upward from the waistband.

I jumped to my feet at once. "What are you doing? Give me that!"

He laughed and said, "It's the only way you'll learn. Trust me on this."

I yelled, in a higher, crazier voice, "Give it back!"

That seemed to frighten him, as he pulled it out of his pants, set it on my coffee table, and stepped away. "It's completely clean," he said, "Possibly even cleaner than when I picked it up."

So gross. I didn't even want to touch it. He then said, "I just wanted to show you that I wasn't diseased. Maybe now, you'll show me some respect."

I said, "How about if I show you the door, instead?" and opened my apartment door for him.

He didn't move a muscle. He said, "Why would I leave? You should be thanking me. You're not thinking straight."

I said, "And you're not thinking at all. You leave or I call the police."

He shuffled out and I locked the door after him. Crash and burn. Such a sad night, because up until then, I really liked him. I must've spent an hour cleaning my piccolo, inside and out (ha ha) and I've thankfully never bumped into Mark again.