Random Thoughts I Had About Why I Can’t Whistle

I don’t have the whistling gene.

I grew up in a non-whistling household.

Actually, my dad and brother can whistle.

I grew up in a gender-biased, mixed-whistling household.

My family did not prioritize musicality during my formative years and focused too much on math.

Well, technically, they did drag me to piano lessons when I was seven. But the piano was clearly the wrong instrument. I should’ve been taking whistling lessons. Much more useful for getting people’s attention and hailing cabs. You can’t hail a cab with a piano.

Whistling conveys a sense of carefreeness and nonchalance.

I have never felt carefree or nonchalant.

Whistling in a carefree and nonchalant manner alerts the mysterious forces at work (the ones that control Murphy’s Law) that you are enjoying life a bit too much, and now, something bad must happen.

How “bad” depends on the level of exuberance displayed during whistling. The “bad” ranges from stepping on gum to a piano falling on your head.

Thus, whistling is risky.

I am risk-averse.

Often, people whistle while they are doing something, like washing a car, drilling a hole, or making friendship bracelets. Whistling requires multitasking, and I can only single-task.

As long as the single task is not whistling.

Whistling conveys cheerfulness.

Being cheerful is complicated, unless you are a cheerleader and it’s a requirement. If I had been a cheerleader, I would’ve known how to be cheerful, and whistling would’ve come naturally to me. My school didn’t have sports, so there were no cheerleaders.

But there was a lot of guilt in our religious curriculum. Guilt is the opposite of whistling.

I always assumed that when I became an adult, I would suddenly be able to whistle.

I’ve been an adult for a while now. I still can’t whistle.

Is it too late to learn how to hail a cab using a piano?