I messed with Scott too. Scott is a high falutin’ pianist. I am of course, a dipshit.

We were hanging out one day… one of those days when you never get out of bed. And we were talking about everything and music came up.

Now granted, Scott is a total connoisseur. However, he is also a fool. The conversation went like this.

“Blah, blah, blah, Paganini,” he said

“Paga-who?” I said.

“Paganini,” He said.

“Paaag… Paaagg… what did you say?”

“Paganini,” he said with a smile spreading across his face. ‘What? You can’t say Paganini?” He launched into a robust speech about how great he was.

“Um… yeah well I think I can. Sure, I can say it. Um… Paga… parmesan?” I said with a hapless smile.

He roared. “I can’t believe it! What am I doing with a woman who can’t even say Paganini’s name? Who would believe this? No one!”

I shook my head. “Well, wait. Let me try again,” I said humbly.

“Well, yeah. Why don’t you. Paganini was a great musician and everyone should be able to say his name.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Paga… paga… paganoozi,” I said. “I mean, paga… what was it again?”

He eventually gave up. And yup. To this day he thinks I can’t pronounce Paganini.

In fact when I told him 15 years after the fact that I was just messing with him that day, he did not believe me.

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