My kingdom for a stove!

The Black Orchid of Paris Blues: The Sublime Miss Kosi
www.seangilligan.com

We were working on a new song, called “I want you for my man.” (Sadly, this song is not about a threesome.) The production was coming together well, complete with Mamas-and-the-Papas style harmonies and pretty girls with big skirts dancing on platforms in the background. However, it was missing it’s single most important element: raised lighters.

Once I recognized the lack, I was forced to admit with embarrassment that I can’t light a lighter.

Seriously, though. I can’t.

As I spoke my confession to my band mates during rehearsal, the room went silent. I could feel six eyes peering at me in complete horror. I wished somebody would say something. Anything.

Finally, Jeff spoke.

“You mean,” he stammered, “you mean if I were here dying, you couldn’t light me a bong to save my life?”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Not cool, man.”

I wrestled with the disturbing image of our esteemed bass player slowly dying of marijuana deficiency while I stood by watching helplessly. Jeff was right; that was not cool. What kind of friend and band mate was I that I couldn’t even come through with such a simple act of relief at such a critical time of need? The thought nearly brought tears to my eyes.

“But wait!” I gasped, suddenly brightening up with the glow of revelation. “I could light it on the stove!”

The tension in the room melted away like warm cotton candy. The potential crisis had been averted and all was right with the world again.

As I sit here now, warming my feet by a skid row coal stove, it occurs to me that a stove would be a useful thing to have handy in case I ever need to light an emergency bong. However, I’ve never brought a stove with me to a show. None of my dresses have any pockets and my breasts are not large enough to store one inside my bra. How unprepared I’ve been! How will I ever come through in time of need, should the situation arise?

As such, dear audience, I now leave the charge to you. If any or all of you would be so kind as to bring your stove with you the next time you come see the Goddess Lakshmi, you would be doing your part in preventing accidental death by marijuana deficiency.

But don’t bring a lighter. Or matches. I can’t light them either.

Sorry.