A Christmas Miracle Come Early

I can't whistle.

It is (one of) my secret shame(s).

My dad can whistle any tune in two part harmony. My mom can do that really loud finger whistle thing that can be heard for three square miles. My brother, who used to be similarly afflicted with a lack of whistling ability actually sat down and TAUGHT himself to whistle and is now on his way to pro status. I can't produce anything except this pathetic, anemic, "mostly just sounds like breathing through a small hole" type sound. It is truly a sad sound to behold. I am convinced it has something to do with my remarkably small, and strongly attached tongue (see, I do have more than one secret shame).

Then came the miracle.

The other day, on my way home from the vet's office, I was waiting in the right hand turn lane for the road that leads to my house and I was attempting to do to the "sexy girl" wolf whistle (Why? I don't know). It was my usual pathetic display until the light turned green, and something truly incredible happened. I could whistle. Strong and clear and exactly the right notes. My lips were curled with perfection. Just the right amount of moisture and dryness. The right amount of pucker. (This sounds a little gross, but it is all true). This magical confluence of whistling talents lasted exactly 90 seconds. Just long enough for me to turn on Hwy 51, wait at another red light, and turn onto Fullwood Ln. And just as quickly as it came... it was gone again. I turned into our neighborhood, and with one last gasp, my whistling prowess died in the wind, and all I was left with was the sad sound of soundless, tuneless, talentless oxygen being forced through my lips. But in those 90 seconds I experienced a thrill unlike any other. I mastered the sexy whistle and quickly moved on to other songs I had always wished I could whistle, like "Happy Birthday", "My Girl" and (inexplicably) "Achy Breaky Heart". It was pure magic.

Of course, since that day, I have been whistling in the car non-stop, trying to recreate those perfect circumstances and rediscover my "sweet spot". All I have achieved is the subsequent chapping and cramping of my lips, and the permanent lodging of "Achy Breaky Heart" in my brain.

Perhaps this year I will ask Santa to bring me the ability to whistle. He still owes me from Christmas 1987 when I asked him to bring me magical powers in a glowling Glenda the Good Witch-type orb that I would somehow absorb inside myself and thus be imbued with said powers. All I got was as sparkly purple scooter and a white tutu with pink rosettes sewn on the skirt, which obviously was not that shabby of a runner up prize, but still.



Happy Holidays kiddos. Give thanks for those you love... and, if you've got it, the ability to whistle whenever the whim strikes you. For that is truly a beautiful thing.