I sort of pretended everything around me was a piano; kind of like the Tootsie Roll commercials, but for pianos.
Then I spent some time staring into the windows at the piano on display.
I drew pictures of myself playing piano.
At about 9, someone showed up and told me the store wouldn't be open for another hour. I threw myself at her feet, crying, begging her to let me buy a piano before then. She was uncomfortable, to say the least, and in retrospect I really feel bad for her, but at the time all I was thinking about was buying a piano.
Eventually, she relented, probably because she was annoyed or frightened. She showed me the three pianos they had in stock. I realized, then, that my car wouldn't fit a piano, my home wouldn't fit a piano, and my budget wouldn't fit a piano. I picked the one I liked best - the most pianolike piano there. I told her that "piano" was originally an abbreviation for "pianoforte" but it turns out she already knew that. I asked her how much it would cost to just leave it here and say it was mine.
She called the police, of course. I'm writing this livejournal from jail. But somewhere, deep down in my heart, I know that the piano is mine, which is why I just ordered a piano stool.