Honi soit qui mal y pense
So there I was, wailing away on “American Pie” in the ol’ campsite, when a string broke. I went to my guitar case to fetch a replacement and discovered (of course) that I didn’t have that string. Shazbat.
I checked the time, and it was only 10:30. We eat lunch at 1:00, so I had plenty of time to bop into town and get some replacement strings. I walked up to the office and checked myself out, fetched my car, and was heading out of camp when I passed Ken, one of our troop adults. I stopped to tell him where I was going.
“I’m heading into town,” I said. “Be gone about 45 minutes. Broke a G string.” His jaw dropped, and he got a look on him like nothing so much as a gaffed gamefish.
“Not that kind of G string,” I said.
I checked the time, and it was only 10:30. We eat lunch at 1:00, so I had plenty of time to bop into town and get some replacement strings. I walked up to the office and checked myself out, fetched my car, and was heading out of camp when I passed Ken, one of our troop adults. I stopped to tell him where I was going.
“I’m heading into town,” I said. “Be gone about 45 minutes. Broke a G string.” His jaw dropped, and he got a look on him like nothing so much as a gaffed gamefish.
“Not that kind of G string,” I said.