Some guitars came to us in meaningful ways or from meaningful places. Some from Hell.
No woman had ever bought me anything musical, not even so much as a pick. 40 years of playing and not even a pick.
My second marriage lasted as long as a puff of tobacco smoke, but while it was going well, she sent me a text with a photo of the most beautiful lefty Les Paul Traditional you've ever seen. Her message said, "Sweetheart, I've bought you your dream guitar. I knew how much you wanted one. It cost $1800, and I'm just happy to please you this way."
Well, smack my back, Mr. Lumberjack--when it arrived, I opened the case, and there it sat all cherry sunburst, nothing but beauty, an excellent axe that matched my dreams.
I played it for an hour and another and another. Loved it. The ex liked my guitar playing a lot, but not enough to follow through on her purchase.
"Surely you know I can't buy an $1800 guitar!" she said out of the blue. I was stunned and said, 'Well I guess you can't then." It caused me a financial difficulty, but I paid for it.
When we divorced, she left me a note that said I owed her thanks for getting me my dream guitar.
That's the story of how I got my Les Paul and learned never to get married again. The End.
Reply With Quote
awesome
