her fingers are bare.
We get a table near the front, and quickly order alcohol. There’s no way you can sing karaoke without being pretty drunk. Jason inexplicably has a great voice and always sounds fantastic when he sings, but it usually takes at least four or five drinks to get him up there. Despite being lead singer of a band and a music teacher, I can’t sing nearly as well as Jason, but I always end up making a showing.
“Tasha,” Melissa says as she sips her drink, smearing her glass slightly with her red lipstick. “I heard about your sister, Lydia. Congratulations!”
I stare at her in surprise. “Oh, um, thanks.”
“And don’t worry,” she adds. “I’m sure it will be your turn eventually.” As she says that, she puts her hand on Jason’s forearm possessively.
Oh my God. I am going to kill Jason. How could he tell her that? He knows how sensitive I am about this wedding! I raise my eyes to give him a dirty look, but he’s shaking his head with an exaggerated expression of innocence on his face.
So if Jason didn’t tell her, then. . . .
I look over at Larry, who’s taking a swig of his beer. I give him a questioning look. He shrugs and says, “Oh, I told Melissa about your sister. I hope that was okay. Or did you want to tell her?”
Could my boyfriend seriously be this clueless? Seriously??
“So what song are you singing, Tasha?” Jason asks me, swiftly changing the subject.
“I have a few thoughts,” I say.
“How about you, Melissa?” he asks.
“Are you joking?” Melissa snorts. “I’m not getting up there and making a fool out of myself.”
“But it’s really fun,” Jason points out.
“So is jumping out of a plane,” she says.
“We’ll see,” he says. “I bet if we get a few more drinks in you, you’ll sing something.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Melissa says, and I’m pretty sure she means it. Melissa’s a little too uptight to belt out a song in front of a large audience.
After my third beer, I’m ready to put in my dollar and select my choice of songs. The DJ sees the song and grins at me. “I can’t wait to hear you sing this,” he says.
Jason looks intrigued when I get back to the table. “What are you going to sing?” he asks me.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Larry doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to me. He seems very distracted by something.
About fifteen minutes later, I hear the DJ call my name and I get up on the stage. To be honest, I love being up on the stage. I’m kind of an exhibitionist. Despite how awful Cynthia’s Armpit was, I loved the rush of singing in front of a crowd. And yes, I love the way the men in the crowd look at me. Maybe when I’m forty, a pair of tight jeans and a tank top may not be enough to attract howls from men, but right now, it still does.
The words to the song appear on the teleprompter, but I don’t need them. I know this song by heart.
“‘Oh my God, Becky,’” I say into the microphone, putting my hand on my hip. “‘Look at her butt. It’s so big! She looks like one of those rap guys’ girlfriends. But, you know, who understands those rap guys? They only talk to her because she looks like a total prostitute!’”
Jason is cracking up at our table, while Melissa has her usual look of hatred/disapproval. I can see Larry, and he’s got this bemused expression on his face, and his eyes widen when I burst out with, “‘I like big butts!’”
I’ve sung “Baby Got Back” a few times, and it’s the one song that never fails to amuse the crowd. Especially because my butt, while not especially large, is pretty nice, if I do say so myself, and I don’t terribly mind putting it on display a bit. I’ve got people in the room actually dancing by the time the song comes to an end.
When I get back to my table, I expect Larry to react with horror and maybe send me to my room without supper, but instead he puts his arm around me and kisses me. “I have the coolest girlfriend
We get a table near the front, and quickly order alcohol. There’s no way you can sing karaoke without being pretty drunk. Jason inexplicably has a great voice and always sounds fantastic when he sings, but it usually takes at least four or five drinks to get him up there. Despite being lead singer of a band and a music teacher, I can’t sing nearly as well as Jason, but I always end up making a showing.
“Tasha,” Melissa says as she sips her drink, smearing her glass slightly with her red lipstick. “I heard about your sister, Lydia. Congratulations!”
I stare at her in surprise. “Oh, um, thanks.”
“And don’t worry,” she adds. “I’m sure it will be your turn eventually.” As she says that, she puts her hand on Jason’s forearm possessively.
Oh my God. I am going to kill Jason. How could he tell her that? He knows how sensitive I am about this wedding! I raise my eyes to give him a dirty look, but he’s shaking his head with an exaggerated expression of innocence on his face.
So if Jason didn’t tell her, then. . . .
I look over at Larry, who’s taking a swig of his beer. I give him a questioning look. He shrugs and says, “Oh, I told Melissa about your sister. I hope that was okay. Or did you want to tell her?”
Could my boyfriend seriously be this clueless? Seriously??
“So what song are you singing, Tasha?” Jason asks me, swiftly changing the subject.
“I have a few thoughts,” I say.
“How about you, Melissa?” he asks.
“Are you joking?” Melissa snorts. “I’m not getting up there and making a fool out of myself.”
“But it’s really fun,” Jason points out.
“So is jumping out of a plane,” she says.
“We’ll see,” he says. “I bet if we get a few more drinks in you, you’ll sing something.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Melissa says, and I’m pretty sure she means it. Melissa’s a little too uptight to belt out a song in front of a large audience.
After my third beer, I’m ready to put in my dollar and select my choice of songs. The DJ sees the song and grins at me. “I can’t wait to hear you sing this,” he says.
Jason looks intrigued when I get back to the table. “What are you going to sing?” he asks me.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Larry doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to me. He seems very distracted by something.
About fifteen minutes later, I hear the DJ call my name and I get up on the stage. To be honest, I love being up on the stage. I’m kind of an exhibitionist. Despite how awful Cynthia’s Armpit was, I loved the rush of singing in front of a crowd. And yes, I love the way the men in the crowd look at me. Maybe when I’m forty, a pair of tight jeans and a tank top may not be enough to attract howls from men, but right now, it still does.
The words to the song appear on the teleprompter, but I don’t need them. I know this song by heart.
“‘Oh my God, Becky,’” I say into the microphone, putting my hand on my hip. “‘Look at her butt. It’s so big! She looks like one of those rap guys’ girlfriends. But, you know, who understands those rap guys? They only talk to her because she looks like a total prostitute!’”
Jason is cracking up at our table, while Melissa has her usual look of hatred/disapproval. I can see Larry, and he’s got this bemused expression on his face, and his eyes widen when I burst out with, “‘I like big butts!’”
I’ve sung “Baby Got Back” a few times, and it’s the one song that never fails to amuse the crowd. Especially because my butt, while not especially large, is pretty nice, if I do say so myself, and I don’t terribly mind putting it on display a bit. I’ve got people in the room actually dancing by the time the song comes to an end.
When I get back to my table, I expect Larry to react with horror and maybe send me to my room without supper, but instead he puts his arm around me and kisses me. “I have the coolest girlfriend
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