WE HATE VIOLIN-- AND WE'RE PROUD OF IT!

for Ristine--my fellow violin loather

"NONONONO!"
Your violin is unceremoniously snatched away by your irate violin teacher.
"That's not the way to do it!"
Hell-LO.
THIS IS ONLY MY FIRST WEEK PLAYING THE NEW SONG.
"Like this."
The teacher lifts the bow, and brings it down on the 'D' string (soundlessly, unlike you), starting to play a wonderful melody that is ear (nevermind EYE) candy.
You stare at her with a heavy heart, knowing that even if you practice a millionbilliontrillion times, six hours a day, you'll never be able to play like that.
The tune ends, and your teacher hands you the wooden instrument, which had lied limply in your arms, only came to life when our teacher touched it oh-so gently.
"Like that."
Your shoulders sag as you take back the violin, and start to play the dreaded tune, (which sounds dreadful as well), the horrible screeching punctuated by your teacher's moans,groans&instructions.
You glare at her. You can't stand her, but how can you hate someone who produces such melodic songs?
After 45 minutes, the skin on your fingertips starts to peel away due to the huge pressure you apply on the strings, your shoulder and neck muscles begin to ache, and the palms of your hands start to become so clammy that you're afraid the violin will slip from your grasp and fall to the ground, shattering into a million&one pieces.
Hey. That ain't such a bad idea after all.
Finally, the magic words:
"See you next week."
Free at last!
You stuff you violin back into its case, zip it up quickquickquick, and race out of the music school, nearly banging into the Spanish piano teacher ("Ay ay ay!").

Your handphone rings.
Ooooh.
It's him!
Hey.
"How was your violin lesson?"
The usual.
"It looks so easy! How can you screw up your pieces all the time???"


Hey.
You play the piano.