Several years ago, I got together with a group of friends for a night of Karaoke and laughter. One member of the group was celebrating a recent divorce that had dragged on almost as long as the marriage. He needed to blow off some steam, and show off his new lady(playing fast and loose with that word), having recently taken repossession of his "boys", after years of them being kept under lock and key by, "...the old ball and chain" (his words).
She was younger than most of the group. Truth be told, I have bras older than her. The men in attendance that night were more than happy to sit around the table, hanging on her every word and flip of her bleached blonde hair. The women, well, this wasn't our first rodeo and we all understood that boys will be boys and recently divorced men will be horn dog hounds, taking their cues from something a little further south than the brain up north.
We would roll our eyes and wink at one another each time her bird like voice said, "Think you" instead of "Thank you". Miss Perky Boobs escort, Mark, was grinning from ear to ear like a mule eating briars the entire night, except of course, during those times when his tongue was otherwise occupied in her mouth.
As soon as the first round of drinks appeared, Miss Perky Boobs, announced to one and all that she intended to compete and win the Karaoke contest that night. Her song of choice, Walking After Midnight, a Patsy Cline classic.
Also in attendance was my good friend Jack. We grew up together, attended the same church, and had been singing in various combinations of groups off and on since the mid 70's.
Miss Perky Boobs, was second to sing. We all sat there unable to believe what we were hearing. After all the build up and bragging she had done, at the very least we expected she could carry a tune. WRONG! The girl couldn't carry a note to the post office. Just the same she received a polite smattering of applause from the audience, and a standing ovation from Mark. By standing ovation, I mean, standing on his chair, hooping and hollering.....right until he fell flat on face into the floor.
Quickly picking himself up, he greeted Miss Perky Boobs arrival back at the table by ramming his tongue down her throat for the umpteenth time. Before taking her seat, she snapped her fingers up in the air and said, "Let's see someone beat that".
Jack leaned over and whispered into my ear:
"Shut her up."
I laughed it off. Mark was having a good time,and Lord knows he deserved one after a 5 year marriage to that, "....life sucking bitch from the pits of hell..." (his words).
One by one, Miss Perky Boobs sat and critiqued each singers performance, laughing and making fun at them, while singing her own praises. She already had her acceptance speech composed and had recited it to all of us. Twice. All the while Jack was constantly in my ear:
"Do it Rocky."
After another hour of her bragging, Don and his lady, began sticking their heads in the huddle with me and Jack. Don, usually mild mannered and very polite, said to me through gritted teeth:
"Get up there and show her how to sing a Patsy Cline song before I forget that I am a gentleman."
By now, Miss Perky Boobs had noticed our little pow wow and wanted to know what we were talking about that was such a secret we had to whisper.
"Oh, we're just trying to convince Rocky to get up there and do a Patsy Cline number."Jack said.
Miss Perky Boobs smiled and giggled.
"Oh, ya'll are so mean. Leave her alone. Not everyone can sing Patsy." She smirked.
I don't have to tell ya'll that my bloomers were in a sure enough bunch after that statement.Oh...that burned my cookies!
Jack put his face right up in front of mine with a devilish smile,
"Well.....?" He said, his eyes drilling into mine.
"Okay. Go up there and put my name on the list."
He got up out of his chair and quickly headed to the stage, before returning to the table.
" What are you gonna sing?"
"Walking After Midnight. What else." I said.
He laughed out loud and slapped me on the back, yelling...."Atta girl."
"What was all of that about?" Miss Perky Boobs asked.
"Oh, I changed my mind. I think I'll give it a try after all." I said sweetly.
"Okay. I just hope you know what you're doing." She smirked
Jack returned with a double Whiskey Sour and sat it down in front of me.
"Drink this. I'll be back in a minute."
About 5 minutes later he flew back to the table, sliding me a bottle of olive oil under the table. When we sing together, we always took time to warm up our vocal cords. There are just some songs you have to build up to, and Patsy Cline songs were in that bunch. Olive oil was used to coat the throat and vocal cords.
I had just finished my drink when the emcee called my name and announced that I would be singing, Walking After Midnight, also.
Jack shoved the bottle of olive oil in my hand, "Kill it", he urged,which I did.
I was a little uncomfortable and needed a few seconds to compose myself before singing. In all honesty, I was having second thoughts, until I gazed into the cold, smug eyes of Miss Perky Boobs, leaning into a very happy Mark, as she stroked his brain under the table. I nodded my head at the guy working the sound board, a silent cue to begin the music...took a deep breath and belted it out.
I'm not one to brag, but as my Mother always said, it's not bragging if you can back it up. And I did,receiving a standing ovation. From everyone except Miss Perky Boobs. I returned to the table, unsteady on my feet from the double Whiskey Sour and Jack spun me around like a top.
A few more people sang, including Jack,then the $100.00 prize for the night was presented to....ME. As I returned to the table, I placed my arm on Miss Perky Boobs shoulder and said:
"Don't feel bad dear. Not everyone can sing Patsy."
I did feel kind of bad when I learned that Mark didn't get lucky that night. But, I have to admit it sure felt good to serve a big tall glass of "Shut Up Juice" to Miss Perky Boobs, who left with her tail between her legs and boobs that didn't seem so perky after all.
Later Ya'll...^Belle^
(I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT KIND OF ADS APPEAR AT THE TOP OF THIS POST)
