Page 7 of 10 Things I Skate About You

There is hooting and hollering from the audience. None of it is coming from the ass in the suit who’s mansplaying directly in front of me in the audience. Nor is it coming from Ms. Percy, who is standing at her makeshift desk near the corner of the stage, arms crossed. Her expression, as always, is unreadable, but I saw her foot tapping nonstop through our last song. I’m feeling the love from this crowd!

“Thanks so much for pointing that out, Eunice,” I mutter. “You might recognize this melody. Our song is called ‘Oh, My Darling Valentine,’ and if you’re the winning bidder tonight, you may request it for the event we play at.”

I really wish we had a drummer who could count us in, but nobody wants to deal with a drum kit or a drummer. This song is to the tune of the folk song “Oh, My Darling Clementine.” Despite how it might sound, I was in a really good mood when I wrote it.

“Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling valentine.

You were tossed into the toilet; I’m not sorry, valentine.

I had made you for my boyfriend, with my glitter glue stick fine,

Then I found out he was cheating, so I had a glass of wine.

After thinking all about it, I decided what to do.

So I dropped you in the toilet, because he’s a piece of poo.

How I wish that I could flush him down the drain like I did you.

But the only kind of paper we should flush is toilet—oops!

Please be kind to our oceans and our ancient plumbing too.

But you don’t have to be kind to my ex-boyfriend, who is poo.

Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling valentine.

You were tossed into the toilet, but it’s his fault and not mine.”

Standing ovation.

Mic drop. But not really. I curtsy and wave to the audience. The bidding on our lot is about to begin. My brothers, who are emceeing, walk back out onstage as we walk off to the side. They’re both wearing red sequin blazers over theirNet ZeroesT-shirts and track pants, and they look ridiculous. Eunice announces to everyone that her husband won’t get a BJ unless the winning bid is at least five hundred dollars. Tina jacks her thumb up, indicating that it would have to be higher for her husband to get that lucky.

“All right, let’s hear it for The Shrew Crew!” Rhys hollers into his mic. “And now it’s time to bid on the lot these gorgeous ladies and my sister have generously donated for this very worthy cause—a performance of five songs at the winning bidder’s event of choice. Let’s start the bidding at a very conservative two hundred dollars.”

I glance down at Foley, who makes a big show of sitting on his hands. What a dick. Itoldhim he couldn’t afford us.

Ms. Percy holds up her clipboard. She’s the most responsible person in the room, and she is, of course, in charge of keeping track of the winning bids and accepting payment. The winning bidder pledges a thousand dollars. Adam Foley can take his forty bucks and shove it. My girls and I high-five each other and gather around one of the cocktail tables at the back..

And I am obviously going to be the only Pogue bringing the snark for our next episode because my brothers will be blissed out.

Ron the Zamboni Driver is the DJ tonight. He starts up “Pony” by Ginuwine as Corey, the defenseman from the Icebreakers, comes onstage in his sweats and high tops, doing the dumbest dance I have ever seen a man do. But I gotta say, evenhehas a butt worth ogling.

“Can you touch this?” Lance says into the mic, doing the worst Matthew McConaughey impression I have ever heard. Some ladies in the audience cheer. All of the guys booo and shout out that they don’t want to. “Would you pay to go out to dinner with this beautiful, authentic man on Valentine’s Day?” he asks. “The winning bid goes to the Kenton Children’s Hospital, but the winning bidder gets a one-way ticket to paradise. And by paradise, I mean Corey is offering a full synthetic oil change and tire rotation on his date’s vehicle, a personal tour of his vintage-snowmobile collection, and dinner prepared on the grill in his garage.”

Corey pauses his hip thrusting to grab the mic and say, “I’ve got a twelve-pound brisket I’ve been saving for a special occasion, and trust me, ladies, this is gonna be a special occasion that you won’t forget.”

I am, of course, shooting video of this for the podcast, but I’m a little worried that Tina and Eunice are going to die laughing.

Rhys starts the bidding at one hundred and twenty-five dollars, which is what Corey charges for a premium synthetic oil change and tire rotation at his garage. I would seriously consider bidding, because let’s face it, my Jeep, Simone, is basically dating him and lives part-time at his garage. But I also don’t want to, so I don’t.

A really fun drunk lady bids one hundred fifty bucks and then outbids herself by fifty dollars. And then bids against herself again, closing things out at two-hundred-twenty-five bucks. And that’s it.

The striptease song fades into the James Bond theme. Adam “Give Me A Fucking Break” Foley strolls out onstage in the bespoke black tuxedo he used to wear to events back in Chicago. I continue shooting video, because I’m a professional and can do this while rolling my eyes and gagging.

He’s adjusting the cuffs and wearing aviators, like an asshole. Does he look like a million bucks? Sure. Would I pay five dollars to go on a date with him even if it’s for a good cause? Absolutely not. Would I go out with him if someonepaid mea million bucks? Also no. Will I show up to watch the poor woman who ends up going out with him, like the rest of Kenton? Obviously, but only to heckle him and offer my condolences to his date.

“Ladies and ladies,” Rhys announces. “Please welcome to our humble stage, celebrity former Chicago Sentries center and current Icebreakers team captain, Adam ‘That’s Not My Nickname’ Foley.”