"I'm so depressed," my student sighed Friday afternoon.
"Where's your ukulele?" I asked. "That might cheer you up."
"In my locker," she told me glumly.
"Well?" I said, grabbing my own from it's hook behind my desk. "How about a little jam session?" I strummed a few chords and looked at her expectantly.
She shook her head with a frown. "I don't know why," she said, "but ever since I actually got my ukulele, I'm just not excited about it anymore."
"Where's your ukulele?" I asked. "That might cheer you up."
"In my locker," she told me glumly.
"Well?" I said, grabbing my own from it's hook behind my desk. "How about a little jam session?" I strummed a few chords and looked at her expectantly.
She shook her head with a frown. "I don't know why," she said, "but ever since I actually got my ukulele, I'm just not excited about it anymore."
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