I've long suspected that the way to be a successful singer is simply to add alcohol. Brittany, Lindsay, Robbie--I think I've made my point. So it was with well-lubricated vocal cords that EGG and I set off on our K adventure--Karaoke (and there was a $500 prize).
Can't we go kayaking? EGG whimpered, but I've put my foot down on adventure letters after all my recent disasters, and by god, we were going to sing! Or so I thought.
It is not easy to get a song at our near neighbourhood pub, because there exists a karaoke clique. I thought cliques were all about high school, but no, they lurk in a karaoke pub near you. It works this way (its ingenuity is in its simplicity)--if you're not a member of the clique, you don't get to sing.
I was reliably informed of this by my new Polish friend who I met at the karaoke pub. Clique members also carry a bit of padding around the middle, have had a long pre-karaoke session with the hair straightener and wear clothes a couple of sizes too small for them. They are also clued up as to all the songs that don't have high notes which makes Funky Cold Medina a big hit. This is all true, but maybe my bitterness is making me a wee bit judgmental.
I laughed when Polish Man told me all this. Surely they would be begging for people to sing--I mean is it up there on your Top Five things to do on a Saturday night? No, didn't think so, but as our night started to drag into the second hour, I was starting to believe him.
We waited for TWO hours to sing. The members of the clique sang one, two, three songs each, and I was starting to get a little cross (I was also starting to get a little drunk). But Polish Man to the rescue. He stormed up to Mr Music and demanded I be allowed to sing, and sing I did.
It's a little daggy (OK a lot daggy) but I sang Lipstick on Your Collar off key, wriggled my hips and did a lot of finger pointing (maybe I was more than a little drunk). Then it was EGG's turn. He sang Start Me Up and it was as if Mick Jagger appeared. He waved his arm around his head and then strutted around the front like a little rooster. He couldn't sing, but he got ten out of ten for attitude.
Meanwhile, I was dancing with Polish Man who spent a lot of time grooving up to Mr Music, comparing him to people involved in World War 2, all the while waving his middle fingers while saying a word that starts with and means the same as fornication but is much more effective for expressing your feelings.
Lovely and helpful though Polish Man was we thought we had best cut short our brief association and EGG and I called it a night.
I wonder if we won the 500 bucks?
K is for Karaoke.
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