Singing For My Supper WC 276

Singing for my Supper
WC 276

I am standing alone near the pool; I don’t recognize a soul.

I had gotten a random email invitation to this party last week. I thought it would be impolite to decline, even though I had no idea who it was from.

This stranger approaches me. I assume she’s the hostess.

“I’ve heard about you,” she says.

“From?”

“Barry Wickum.”

My friend Barry is always bragging about my talent. This woman knows I’m a singer, thus the invite.

I'm not in the mood to entertain! I hate when people assume because I'm a singer, they think I want to entertain them.

I've seen it happen to doctors at parties. “Doc, I have this rash,” they say, even though he is off the clock. They pull up their shirt expecting him to have a miracle cure.

The hostess jabbers on. I anticipate the request.

Any minute now.

“Excuse me please,” I say and pretend to answer my phone.

I have a one-sided conversation.

“Gosh, I hate to eat and run, “I say, “but something has come up.”

“Just before you leave…”

Here it comes.

“Do you think you might take a group photo of us?"

I know they don't know me. but it feels rude not to include me in the photo.

“Sure,” I say.

She hands me the camera and I snap a few photos.

I pretend my phone rings again.

“Oh, good, “I say and hang up. “I don't have to leave, after all.”

“We have plenty of food and drink,” the hostess says. “Please help yourself.”

“I could sing a few songs if you would like,” slips out.

I think I need a therapist.