Now that THAT is all I truly wanted for Christmas. The resurgence of my printer. Nobody cares for a print product these days. Doctors even ask me to send pots of pee to them as a PDF.
Oh you're right, it was (still is. Pretty sure she's out there in an alternate life wreaking havoc on the set of Doc Martin). When my grandad died, she cooked a pork pie so large we considered saving money on the coffin and just burying him in that.
Very practical, cost effective choice. Which, of course, I already knew what with the fact that I, too (*brag alert*) am a piano player (*for additional bragging, seek further contact details*). Which means that I know firsthand that you're not the one saying those words. Like the music, the come directly from your fingertips. And those bad boys have ten lives of their own.
But anyway. I'm weirdly hyped by your weird hype of my willingness. I'm definitely into that, though I'm more into machines that can de-scalp a gal whilst she shrieks into the nine-franchised night. Still though, damn. You truly painted a picture there. One I plan to paste all across the walls of my room. Looks like the printer will be working the night shift.