YOU HAVE HOW MANY ACCORDIONS?
Welcoming a New Accordion Into the Family
He who dies with the most accordions wins
Joyous news! You and your partner — or just you! — have finally succeeded in bringing an accordion into the family! Possibly your first. Possibly your second or sixth. You’ve dreamed about it for years, and struggled! There were fights with the spouse and recriminations! Resentment and secret vows to “punish him for now and all time!”
But that’s over! Huzzah! But it’s no time to give up on the anxiety and worry! Only a sense of lingering dread will help you successfully navigate this difficult new stage for the family.
Here are some tips to make the transition successful for you and for the new box of joy.
Make sure everyone’s on board
Yeah, you probably should have done this long ago, so WTF? But fine. It’s probably not too late. You’ve got an accordion coming to your home from a “source” in Budapest. It’s important that this accordion feels welcome.
Sit the family down — spouse, kids, dogs, cats, gerbils, squatters, day laborers, and decorative hermits — and let them know that, for the sake of the new accordion they are all expendable.
You’re already tired of the husband, right? The kids — well, the whole point of the accordion dodge is that the kids are driving you duck shit crazy. The pets are all just a short drive from “a farm upstate.” The squatters, laborers, and hermit will pose no problem, of course, living as they do in a persistent anarcho-romantic state that prioritizes accordions above all things.
Prepare yourself for the scorn of your neighbor
Even if this is your first accordion, you will have to endure the side-eye from the insensitive guy next door. He will say, “How could you bring an accordion into this world? The way things are today?” Do not be deterred by derision and pessimism. Rather, pity him. Love the ignorant. Hate the ignorance.
As your lifestyle becomes more centered on accordions, though, some offensively curious poltroon is going to look at you aghast and say something like, “You have how many accordions?” A deeply personal question, and unacceptable in even impolite company. “Friends” may try to exhibit “understanding” by asking, “So, what makes this new accordion special or different from the others?” Quote King Lear at them.
“Reason not the need!”
You have nothing to justify — except that weirdo accordion that plays in flat keys. Seriously, what were you thinking? B flat? Just stop.
Talk to the other accordions, but not too soon
If you tell the other accordions too soon, they’ll have time to gin up angst that you’re bringing in the new box because you’re unhappy with the current herd. They fear they will be replaced! This is absurd, of course, because you’ve already sold off the accordions you don’t want in order to pay for the new one. But accordions gonna worry.
When it’s almost time for the new accordion to arrive — maybe when you hit day 8 in the mystical “delivery in 8 to 12 days” window — sit the accordions down for “the talk.” Yes, tell them, you’ll probably spend more time at the beginning with the new accordion but that’s natural in this situation. And you will probably play tunes on the new accordion that have, in the past, been reserved for some of your other accordions.
Tell them that what you really need is for the old accordions to serve as mentor and guide to the new accordion. They have important lessons to impart to the new accordion! For example, who else will tell the new accordion, “Never let Dad know what you love. He’ll only use it against you.”
If they still kvetch, scold them for being selfish, ungrateful, and “sharper than a serpent’s tooth.” Say to them, “It’s not the smell of the flower that’s important, but the bouquet.” Accordions fall for crap like that all the time.
Remove all knives and firearms from the house
It goes without saying, but I said it. Why take chances?
Don’t worry!
If you follow your instincts you should be fine. Yes, you’ll be enamored with the new accordion, but you also know you should make special time for all the accordions — except the one that plays in those freakish flat keys! Some accordions just don’t deserve love. But the rest, let them know they are appreciated.
And really, what’s the worst that can happen? Your neighbors, spouse, kids, pets, squatters, laborers, and hermits join forces with your old accordions to lure you into an accordion honey trap, stab you with a William Sonoma bread knife, toss you into the trunk of a monkey-shit brown Lincoln Continental, and then sink the vehicle in a flooded mine shaft up to the quarry?
That probably won’t happen.
