Tonight’s Man Auction, a fundraiser for an elementary school, included such items as a Pig Roast (he raises the pig and then he…), fishing, excavating, carpentry, paving with hardpack by the famously hot Johnson Brothers (“We’ll make it smooth!”), personal training from a Chippendale’s-caliber (yet straight) Adonis, and other manful offerings—with plenty of references to “buffing”, “Googling”, “my package”, and “crevice tool” to crank those bids in a roomful of uncharacteristically dressy and vocal rural women.
When I won a door prize, I admitted to the chick next to me that I win things, but that I’m unlucky in love. She said she also wins stuff and encouraged, “Maybe he’s here!” Ever unhopeful, I switched topics to the awful Chippendale’s show I took a bride-to-be to in L.A. for her bachelorette party, where one dancer rubbed his greased, sweating body pretty much all over her. My new friend said, “Oh no, are they gonna have that?” I suggested this was unlikely at the Barnard Town Hall.
The Pig Roast was for maximum 50 people. My new friend said, “I don’t think I know 50 people. ” And that’s exactly why I live here.