Yep. You read that right. They. Bought. A. Piano. The "they" being my upstairs neighbors. They bought a piano and moved it upstairs yesterday afternoon.

Fortunately, I missed the whole moving-a-piano-up-the-staircase-and-around-the-turn-on-the-landing process. The Winged Monkey? Not so lucky. He was at my place, getting my computer ready for a Windows 7 upgrade (I'm sure there will be more on that in the coming days) when the moving in began. And when it finally ended an hour later. He had been relieved when the initial playing had stopped:
WM (whispering): Whoever is up there stumbled through a couple of songs, but they didn't finish any of them, and the songs really didn't flow into one another very well, so it wasn't like a medley.

And they weren't very good.

And you couldn't drown them out, no matter how high you turned up the tv.
Fortunately, the concert ended after a half hour or so. Only to be followed by the professional carpet cleaners. (Believe you me, my upstairs neighbors are carpet cleaning fools.)

I made it home about 15 minutes before my neighbors returned...with their 10-year-old daughter...who hadn't known about the piano...until she stomped upstairs to find her dad playing (here's one of the best parts) Jingle Bells.
WM (still whispering): Have we had Thanksgiving yet?
Daisy: I have got to move.
What followed was about 20 minutes of random playing, mostly Jingle Bells (well, part of Jingle Bells), a few runs up and down the keys, a half dozen scales. And then? Quiet.
Daisy's head: Maybe it won't be so bad.

Then this morning? 8:30 a.m.? The plunking begins.

I think it's supposed to be the beginning of "Ode to Joy."

I am not smiling.