4. Kate
KATE
Tina and Eunice are my besties. I’ve known Tina since kindergarten, and now we have a small online business together.
Rhys had a crush on her ever since she was in high school, I think, but she was too busy kicking ass as a field hockey player to pay attention to boys until senior year.
She’s so badass. She can do a Zoom call with one of her sports-nutrition-coaching clients while crushing walnuts with one hand and changing a diaper with the other.
That kind of multitasking has, obviously, resulted in some mishaps.
But that’s just being a parent, or so she tells me.
My younger brother, Lance, went to college in Vancouver to play hockey and study women.
He came back with a degree in medieval studies and Eunice.
She is five feet tall, but she texts like a giant.
Eunice’s parents moved to Vancouver from Shanghai.
As she likes to say, they did everything they could to make her a first-generation cliche nerd, including naming her Eunice, forcing her to take classical piano lessons and after-school enrichment programs for high-performing students.
All of that in the hopes she’d become a doctor and wed a banker.
She rebelled by moving to a small town, becoming a graphic designer, marrying a ginger doofus, and playing the accordion in an irreverent children’s band.
She wears sparkly cat-eye glasses and frequently signs autographs as Ali Wong for drunk tourists.
I used to love accompanying The Shrew Crew to their kid-party gigs.
I was their unpaid roadie. Their groupie.
Their unpaid babysitter. Whether it was an on-again or off-again period in my decade-long relationship with Phoenix, I relished and prioritized time with my girlfriends.
Now that the Phoenix thing is finally over, as is my brief flirtation with drinking wine in the shower, which is not nearly as satisfying as drinking wine while taking a bath, I am officially a Shrew.
It’s not that I didn’t want to sing with them before; it’s just that Phoenix had a band of his own and felt that if I sang in a band it would look like I was competing with him.
Did he sing to children? No, he did not.
Did I realize he was being a manipulative asshole?
No, I did not. Did Tina gently suggest that I could do whatever I wanted to do no matter what my boyfriend claimed the optics would be?
Yes. Always. Did Eunice tell me to straight-up dump his toxic ass for good and grab a mic for fuck’s sake?
In exactly those words, yes. Many times.
We all have our journeys. I’m grateful that mine has led me here, to this riser in the event space of the Kincaid Arena.
We, The Shrew Crew, have already performed our crowd favorite, “Five More Minutes,” to great applause.
There actually aren’t any kids here tonight, but a lot of moms lost their minds.
Now we’re doing a new Valentine’s-themed song.
“Thanks, everyone!” Tina says into her mic. Her acoustic guitar is pink, with a combination of adorable stickers and raging feminist bumper stickers all over it, and it tells people everything we need them to know about our band without saying a word.
Eunice shouts into her boom microphone, which is angled very awkwardly around her accordion.
The woman barely fills out a size-zero petite dress, but her stage energy could overwhelm Madison Square Garden.
She says, “Our next and last song’s lyrics were written by our lovely, talented, and very single lead singer, Kate Pogue! ”
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 their Net Zeroes T-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. I told him 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, even he has 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 someone paid me a 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.”
Foley removes his glasses, and it’s the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever seen that’s also, admittedly, very impressive and moderately sexy.
Lance reads from a Post-it note: “Mr. Foley is offering an all-expenses-paid dinner at For Goodness Steak, Kenton’s renowned steakhouse that sources their organic beef from regional ranches and donates ten percent of their profits to a charity organization that plants trees.
For carnivores with a conscience. This lot is open to vegans and vegetarians, as Adam would like to point out that there are excellent salads on the menu.
But he also notes that he will mercilessly make fun of you and your life choices all night.
Drinks afterward at The Penalty Box. He’ll pick you up in his truck and drop you off with a smile on your pretty face. ”
“Shall we start the bidding at forty dollars?” Rhys asks.
My camerawork is shaky because I’m laughing so much.
Judy, the cashier from Good Earth Market, raises her hand.
Shauna from the bookstore quickly outbids her with a hundred dollars.
Sage from The Cosmic Cup and Saffron from Bend it Like Kenton Yoga Studio get in on the action, as do a few other women who I didn’t used to think were crazy, and things escalate to three hundred dollars very quickly.
I notice my brothers giving Tina and Eunice some intriguing looks as Rhys tries to keep up with the bids.
Some faint voice in my head tells me to run when I see my sisters-in-law conferring beside me.
They nod in agreement, and suddenly, Eunice grabs my left wrist, raises my hand against my will, and says, “Five hundred dollars from Kate Pogue!”
“Five hundred dollars to Kate Pogue!” Rhys shouts into the mic. “Going once, going twice—sold to the confused redhead in the back!”
“You’re welcome,” Eunice says as she lets go of me and high-fives Tina.
What the fuck? I didn’t even have time to protest.
I am still in shock when I feel Tina’s arms around my waist, giving me a hug from behind. “You’ll thank us later, baby girl.”
I lower my phone and somehow manage to look up at the stage.
Foley is still standing there, squinting across the room at me.
He looks as blindsided as I feel, except that the deer-in-headlights look quickly becomes a cocky-asshole smirk.
He winks at me and makes a very subtle kissy face that I would like to slap before he slides his aviators back on, turns on his heel, and walks off the stage.
“No” is all I can say. “No.” Turning to Tina and Eunice, I ask, “What the hell?!”
“We’ve been pooling funds for this for a week! Your parents and cousins sent us money. Granny and Grandad Pogue sent forty dollars cash in the mail with a card that says Get it, gurl.” Tina tells me, as if that’s my issue with this scenario.
“I am not going on a date with that man. This is not legally binding.” I storm over to Ms. Percy.
Noah Barrett, son of the head coach of the Comets, is now onstage, dancing around to “You Came to Party.” He’s offering up to some lucky lady dinner at Tim Hortons and “wherever the night takes us.” Ms. Percy doesn’t acknowledge my trembling, rage-y presence.
“Hi, Ms. Percy!” I shout. “There’s been a mistake. I did not consent to bid on a date with Adam Foley. So you should give it to whoever had the highest bid before Eunice threw me under the bus.”
Without glancing at me, she says, “The bid has already been recorded and paid for. Your sister-in-law has already sent the money via PayPal. If you’d like to issue a complaint and request a refund, you may speak to one of the Kincaids.
Or perhaps you’d like to tell the community-fundraising coordinator from the children’s hospital that you don’t care about the well-being of the patients at said hospital.
” She gestures toward the very sweet-looking middle-aged lady who looks like she’d really like to bid on Noah Barrett if only her husband weren’t such a stick in the mud.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I grumble. “Well, I’d like to officially donate the winning bid to whoever had the second-highest bid.”
“That’s against the rules,” she snaps at me. Then she flicks me away with her hands. “Scoot!”