A couple of days in bed and I'm like, itching to play a little bit.
"Which guitar shall we play? The red '67 ES-335, the new love of my life with whom I've been seen cavorting about the docks, that beautiful young thing on whom I've been spending Tripper's dog food money? Ummm, too long and big and heavy
And she's over there looking at me as I write. Sorry, Dear." 
"Well, I do have a not-so-mysterious old '82 jetglo 320 somewhere, I think. In that case over there. Since Christmas
Do you think she still likes me? We've known each other for 27 years, you know, and I swore I'd never replace her ... Do you think she'll forgive me?"So I get her in my lap. so far so good. She's so little
No pain! And she's glo-ing. 
"Oh, there's that neck again. Did I say the Gibson was sweet? 
Whoops, I'm holding my first love again, the original sweetness, the yardstick by which other guitars are measured. And how she touches me in those familiar places." 
Sorry, This is a family forum.We revisit how her strings find my fingertips, not the other way around, how effortless is first position fingering, barre chording with .12 gauge flatwounds (she's a low-tension kind of personality), how I can execute an A chord with the last condyle of any one finger, and how my hand never hits the controls when I strum. ah, her raised fretboard ... I close my eyes and it all comes back, those blissful years together, and we're in communion once again. And you know she hasn't aged a day in all these years.
But I'm in a pickle.
What to do now? I'm torn between two loves.There's your new love
And your blue love
But there's no love
Like your true love
and dress in those awful synthetics 
