If you see Molly Lewis at a soiree and ask her to whistle a tune, she’ll probably decline. After a martini her game can be off – just as you might have slurred when making the request.
Generally she’s not precious. “As long as I can breathe, I can whistle,” Lewis says with an ever-present smile. “I knew this whistler who wouldn’t kiss his wife two weeks before a competition. I think kissing is beneficial, actually. It strengthens the lips.”
When you don’t write lyrics, this is the alternative analysis one must endure.