Peter will never touch my guitar again.

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Several months ago, perhaps over a year ago, I wrote about a fellow instructor at Guitar Center who rubbed me wrong. He was a "stealer of students," bragged about sexual conquests, and was in general sort of a bother. But we reached an uneasy truce, and would sometimes jam together. He doesn't really know "jam etiquette," and will "Bogart" a jam, but Oh Well (to quote Fleetwood Mac, as @FourWalls would attest). Last night I let him play my Collings guitar, which I had recently restrung. We were both "between lessons." The thing was sounding great, and I was glad to have it restrung. Suddenly, he started bending strings in absurd ways, throwing the guitar way out of tune, stretching the new strings in ways I didn't want them stretched, and in general messing with my mojo. I could hardly get the thing in tune for my last three lessons and found myself in a grumpy mood. When I got home, I started this post, but chose to wrote about Alee and the pecans instead. I wanted to feed the good wolf, not the bad. Peter will not be touching my guitars in the future. I'll see if I can find Fleetwood Mac's "Oh Well." It's playing in my head right now.