Conversations with My Wife: In Which I Bemoan the Fact that My Innate Musical Abilities Have Rotted on the Vine

Her: What are you doing?
Me: Washing my old recorder. [Dries off and reassembles recorder; flawlessly executes a rendition of "Ode to Joy" learned in third grade and not played since.]
Her: I'm impressed.
Me: [Sternly points recorder at infant son.] We are getting him all kinds of music lessons. [Gently lays recorder on the counter, skulks off to bed.]