On Sunday, I was trying to summon a Tapir in the Madidi National Park, in the Bolivian Amazon. This is when I learned I cannot whistle.
The indigenous man who was guiding me, Ronnie, let me know that to summon a Tapir, you have to whistle. Apparently Tapirs like and will follow the sound. And, as I had a Tapir following me around who kept falling behind and losing us, it was necessary for me to whistle, which is when I discovered I cannot.
So… fast forward to tonight. Four days later. When one of my very best friends, Karen (many of you know her as, or have heard me refer to her as, “Evil Karen,” even though she is not evil, but I, regardless nicknamed her this over 20 years ago – long story) is at my place for dinner.
We are, not surprisingly, not discussing Tapirs.
Nevertheless, we somehow happen upon the topic of whistling (!!!). This prompts me to remember (!!!), and then blurt out, “Hey! Want to hear something strange? I just figured out this week when I was in Bolivia trying to get this super cute Tapir to come to me that I have no idea how to whistle!”
I’m thinking to myself, like…how weird is it that at age 49 and 1/2, I had no idea that I didn’t know how to whistle? How did I go this long in life without knowing this?
Karen, who I met back in 1994 while walking my dogs near the corner of 74th Street and Third Avenue where I lived (and she was likewise walking hers), responds without missing a beat, “No surprise. You’ve never been able to whistle. But you’ve always been really good at peeing in a straight line when you’re outside.”