So, this post is funny only to people who recognize the word in the title right away. If I have to explain it, it won't be as funny when you're done.
Anyhow. Was reminded in Mass yesterday of an old friend, my very earliest days of email (when I still used my mom's account), and what happens when educated people with senses of humor say whatever comes into their head. Thus, as they say, was born Hyfrydol: The Only Cure for An Upset Cello.
It does, after all, sound like some sort of perscription stuff-for-what-ails-you, and good ol' Mark insisted on pointing it out. Which was all fine and good, until we played a fanfare prelude on the tune in band the next semester--with HYFRYDOL [for-what-ails-you] emblazoned across the top for all the world to giggle at. Not that giggling is a problem, but when you are not only the only oboe in the band but also the only oboe in the band with a significant solo, being struck by the funniness of it all is just a perscription for disaster.
Especially since Mark is never out of your field of vision, sitting like he does at the head of the clarinet section. Drat him. Giggle giggle, went the clarinet.
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