A friend of mine (let's call her Madame X) told me the following story the other night.
When "X" began dating her (now deceased) husband years ago, she had just met him and already was quite smitten. Then one night they went to dinner at the house of some friends of hers. Spying a grand piano in the living room, (let's call him) Jim asked:
"Do you mind if I play?"
"Oh goodness," thought "X," "in addition to everything else he plays piano, too. I'm hooked for sure."
Jim then proceded to sit down and play a quite competent rendition of "The Man I Love."
"More, more!," everyone said.
"No, I think that's it for now. Maybe later."
But he performed no more that evening. Eventually "X" was to learn that was the ONLY song he could play and in fact been coached how to do so by rote by (eventually highly-regarded) jazz pianist Lou Levy when they were both teenagers.
"It impresses girls no end," Lou told him.
Otherwise, Jim could not even navigate "Chopsticks." Nevertheless, he and "X" had many happy years together.