Continued Tales from my Paul Simon phase (or Menopause, The Prequel)

It occurs to me that it takes a special kind of individual to be able to play the drums. I made an executive decision today while driving home from errands. I said: "I am going to learn the bongos. And I will be spectacular at it." Then I let my mind drift about in the ether trying to determine the best method of procuring a "starter set" of my little drums as well as lessons of some kind, ...."if I even need lessons." And then, "Maybe there's a book...", I thought to myself, "Is bongos spelled bongos or bongoes?" I was planning bongo parties. You should have seen it. And then, then, then I got home. I thought it might be a good idea to try drumming on the table, ya know, just to see how much raw talent was lying in wait. I put on some Paul Simon (of course). I thought, "This is gonna be sooo good." Was I woefully overconfident? Oh man! Boy howdy, it was sooo not-good. I thought, "Really? You gotta be kidding me here. I mean, anybody can do this, right?" Wrong. You *have to* be able to laugh at yourself, right?