All in the Lip
Dear Diary:
It was years ago, and my wife and I were on our honeymoon. We hailed a cab near Central Park. I heard a trumpet blaring from the radio.
“Nice music,” I said.
“Harry James,” the cabby said. “He’s the best. I play a little trumpet, and I can tell you that it’s the lip that counts, and nobody has a lip like Harry James.”
“How about that,” I said. “I’m from the town in Texas where Harry grew up, and I actually took trumpet lessons from his father, Everette James, when I was a kid. I’m a fan of Harry’s too.”
We had the usual “it’s a small world” conversation and discussed some of the great Harry James hits.
After arriving at our destination, we paid the fare and began to get out of the cab.
“Wait,” the driver said. “One more thing.”
I thought we might have left something behind.
“You’ve got to tell me,” he said. “Did he say it was all in the lip?”
— Robert Plummer
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