Nothing as Sexy as a Man in a Skirt Pt. 01

It was fun. Seems the nephew could play drums, and his wife was a damn fine fiddle player and singer.

We had played mostly traditional songs, and during a break Robbie, the drummer, bitched.

"Could we play something that I can actually stay awake for all the way through?"

I put down my pipes and picked up my accordion, whispering to Dave and Tony. I asked Molly(how Irish is that? She even had red hair)if she knew the piece. She instantly lit up.

"Count it off, Robbie."

Salty Dog, by Flogging Molly. It was fast, loud, and a ball to play. We were a little rough at first, but by the third time we ran through it we were almost perfect. Then we went off into the Young Dubliners, Waxie Dargle. My tin whistle and her fiddle complimented each other.

Dave's wife, Amy, was a killer keyboard player, and after an hour it was like we had been playing together forever. We didn't run out of steam until after one in the morning.

The older couples were grinning, but Robbie and Molly were walking on air.

"We gotta do this again!" he gushed, while Molly laughed and step-danced across the floor. I surprised her by getting up, with my pipes, and doing a little sword dancing, and finishing with the hornpipe while Molly played her fiddle.

"Where did you learn that?" she said, after we finished.

"From my grandfathers, Fergus and Ewen MacLough, may their souls rest in peace. And from some friends I met while I was in service. Where did you learn step dancing?"

"My mom teaches. I'm first generation Irish American, she came from County Dare when she was seventeen and never went back, except for her honeymoon and her twenty year anniversary."

It was late; everyone had a bit of a buzz, so Dave put us all up for the night. I got an air mattress in the barn, but slept surprisingly well. Amy and Molly fed us all a big breakfast before sending us home with a solemn promise to come back the next Friday.

I was in a great mood all week. Many of my friends commented, saying they were glad I was back. I actually saw Asshole twice, and grinned at him both times. Word of what happened had gotten back to the owner of the company, and her lovers' chances of advancement evaporated. Everyone knew his days were numbered; the owner liked me and hated cheaters, especially ones in his employ. Hearing they were having to live tight to afford the new house made me smile.

I had landed in a nice apartment, one of several duplexes owned by Uncle Will. With my new-found freedom I had very few bills, and could actually work in my shop at night without guilt. My pieces were selling well, and the two shops kept urging me to do more. I did, for a little while, before I backed off to my old level. It was getting to be more of a job than a hobby.

Friday nights at the barn occurred every other week, and more and more people were starting to attend. One night they had a little ceremony and presented me with a new tam. Molly had seen old pictures of me with one on and had ordered it for my forty-first birthday. I had let my hair grow longer than I had in years, and it looked good with it. At least the girls thought so.

It had been eight months since Kim had dropped the bomb on me, and I was surprised at how little I missed her now. I had no trouble recalling her deceit and treachery, but our married life seemed to fade into fuzzy memories that just didn't seem real. Maybe I hadn't loved her as much as I thought, or maybe she had managed to kill that love so completely it had no meaning in my memories. Regardless, I had seen her once or twice and it didn't really bother me. As long as she lived in her world and left me alone, I was fine.

Molly and Robbie were friends with the owners of a pub/dance hall called O'Douls who were thinking about bringing in some Celtic inspired bands to pick up more business on Fridays and Saturdays. They had invited them out to the barn to listen to us play, and before the night was over we were committed to the following Saturday.

We held a short meeting. Dave, Tony and I had been down this road before, so we knew what we were getting into. For Molly, Robbie, and Amy it was a new adventure.

"All right" I said, "if we do this, let's do it right. This can be a lot of fun, but I really mean this, the first time it becomes a job, or you don't feel like playing, it's over, at least for me. I've discovered life is too short to do things you don't enjoy. Agreed?"

They all nodded assent.

"Right then, let's decide. What kind of band do we want to be?"

I saw confusion in the three who hadn't done this before. I explained.

"Do we want to do just rock tinged pieces? Do we want to do some traditionals, some acoustic sets? My suggestion, do them all. It'll give us a broader base, and more opportunities to play."

"And we need to develop a show. Any fool can stand there and sing while they play an instrument, but if that's all they do, they might as well be furniture. They'll be forgotten by the time the patrons get home. If you put on a show, add some humor, develop a hook that people will remember, they'll talk about it. That way, the next time they decide to go out, and see us advertised in the entertainment section of the paper or the internet site of the bar, chances are that we'll be the ones they come out for. That will make the bar owners happy, which will mean we get more bookings, and more money."

I paused. "And it probably wouldn't hurt if we had a name."

This led to a long debate. Celtic and Gaelic names were discussed, but we opted for something simpler, something easy to remember.

Robbie came up with the winning name. In the late nineties a British party band called Chumbawamba had a hit with a song called Tubthumping. I really liked it, and had played it once for him and he had looked them up, adding it to his favorites.

"How about The Tub Thumpers? It's a party sounding name, while sounding old fashioned at the same time. It's catchy, and easy to remember."

We all agreed it was great.

We talked about a hook, and Tony and Dale suggested I wear one of my kilts.

It'll be unusual, and it'll get attention" Molly giggled, "after all, what's sexier than a man in a skirt, playing the accordion?"

They broke up laughing but talked me into it.

................................................

Show time. It was a brand new experience for three of us, and it had been a long time for the rest. I held a pep talk before we went out.

"I won't tell you to relax, or not be nervous. That's natural, the first few times. I will tell you to remember we're getting paid to be on that stage, so be professional, and do your best. Ready to rock these people?"

They were.

We came out, all but me. They started out playing, and I strutted onto the stage in full dress, kilt, sash, white shirt, vest, knee socks, and a sporran. And of course, my tam. The only thing nontraditional was my black Rocky combat boots.

We did a rocked out version of Scotland the Brave, probably the most recognized bagpipe piece in the world. In a few minutes they were clapping and some were dancing. When it ended a few just stared at me. I mugged for the crowd.

"What? Is me slip showing?" I said, using my best brogue.

That brought a round of laughs. I put down the pipes and strapped my accordion on.

"Flogging Molly" I said, and we ripped into an extended version of Salty Dog. The crowd was getting into it, dancing, clapping. trying to jig along.

We switched and did a Corrs song, Angel, with Molly and Amy singing in harmony. I played my tin whistle as a counterpoint to Molly's fiddle. The crowd was actually cheering. We did a few traditional jigs and reels, fast paced and fun, before doing a slow ballad. We finished up the set with All Around My Hat, an old Steeleye Span song, with tight harmonies and a blasting rock guitar. By then we were soaked in sweat and breathing hard. The fifteen minutes were appreciated.

I was too wired to sit down, so I worked the crowd. One girl, already a little tipsy, asked what the standard garb under a kilt was.

"Nothing" I said, looking her in the eye. "Where do you think 'going commando' comes from?"

I left her with her mouth hanging open and her friends laughing as I jumped back on stage.

We finished the show with a Dropkick Murphys song, Going Out In Style, about an Irish wake. We rocked it, and the crowd soon figured out the words and sang along.

We got handshakes, hugs, our backs patted, and questions about where the songs came from. I had gone over this with them all, be nice, answer questions if you can, engage them in conversation for a bit. Word of mouth advertising was priceless.

The owners were ecstatic. We were booked again for two weeks out, they already had another group scheduled for the next.

We rehearsed, adding new songs, fine-tuning others. Added a few comedy bits, worked on some acoustic stuff.

The place was packed when we played again. The managers had posted pictures on their Facebook account, and comments from customers. We tried not to disappoint them.

................................................

I let my hair continue to grow, and had started sporting a handlebar mustache, something I had always wanted to do. Like Molly, I was a redhead.

We were getting really good responses when we played. The entertainment editor for the local paper heard us one night, and they did a spread on us the next week.

Alternative to rock, in the best possible way.

"The Tub Thumpers are a high energy group, mixing bagpipes, accordions, rock guitars, Celtic fiddling, thundering drums, excellent keyboard work, and a driving bass line into something better than the individual parts, and a whole lot of fun. Definitely worth seeing, if you're out and about. They'll be at O'Douls this Saturday and the Irish Rose Pub next Friday. If you're looking for a fun night, look no farther."

We could have played three or four nights a week, if we had wanted. We decided not to, early. Dave and Amy had two kids, and Tony was divorced, with a daughter, and he made it absolutely clear the weekends he got with her were the most important thing in his life, so we only played every other week end, sometimes squeezing in an extra Friday.

We had been doing it for about five months, refining, getting better, until we were a well oiled machine, almost flawless. Tony and I were the only singles in the band, so we got hit on a lot. It was fun for a little while, and we were careful, no marrieds, always with protection. It was no strings attached sports sex, fine if that's what you wanted, but we both realized how silly it was for forty somethings to act like teens, and we both slacked off.

Molly and I had become close, and she had adopted me as a second father, a role unusual for me. I was kind of glad Kim and I hadn't had children, knowing how rough divorce was on them. Still, deep inside, I wished I'd had a chance to experience fatherhood. I tried to make up for it with Molly.

It was street festival time in our area, local towns having them on successive weekends to avoid competition. We played several, some acoustically, some as a full on band. We were something different from the usual fare, and were pretty well received. We even got booked into a couple of county fairs, and played for some pretty big audiences.

Amy and Molly had found a site on the internet that sold custom-made kilts, and surprised us one night, coming on stage in matching kilts. Not traditional kilts, they were pink with little white poodles. Not to be outdone, Robbie ordered one that was black with little skulls and crossbones. Tony and Dave gave in and ordered ones in camo print.

We knew we had a following when people asked where we got them, and started showing up at our shows wearing them. One guy even set up a website for our fans, calling it "Clan MacThumper". We even had a couple of YouTube videos out, professionally made, to advertise for new business.

I had arrived early for practice, and was noodling on one of my accordions, loosening my fingers. I had just seen Annie Get Your Gun the night before on AMC, part of a Howard Keel marathon. I had seen them all before, my grandmother was a huge fan.

Without thinking, I was playing 'Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better'. Molly had come in without me noticing, and suddenly she played counterpoint on her fiddle. I looked up and grinned, singing the first line. Amazingly, she knew the lyrics, and we did the whole thing. When we stopped, laughing, the rest of the guys broke into applause, having come in while we were playing.

"We gotta put that in our set somehow, maybe as a comedy point" gushed Amy.

We all agreed and we worked with it until we thought we had a workable version.

The Starlight Room was a little more upscale than the pub type places we usually played, but they wanted us, and were willing to pay us a little extra. It was frequented by a more highbrow clientele, professionals like lawyers, doctors, upper-management country club types.

They were a bit stiff during the first set, but had loosened up the second. At the start of the third I went onstage alone, with my accordion, and started playing 'Anything You Can Do'. Molly joined me and did counterpoint, and we got into a little mock argument while the rest of the band took their places. We got progressively louder until Amy interjected.

"Guys, Guys, stop!"

She paused, looking over the crowd.

"I tell you what. We'll let the audience decide. I'll take a microphone and go around the room. We'll ask both guys and gals to say something their sex can do better than the other. The one with the best answer gets a free round of drinks for their table. Is that all right with you guys?"

The crowd got into it, laughing and cheering. We started playing the song, stopping when she did to hear what they said.

It went from the expected to the obscure. Working on cars for the guys, domestic stuff for the girls. Most answers were booed. One guy, obviously an architect, shouted out "Design things!"

Molly spoke up, surprising us.

"Eileen Gray, Art Deco style."

Apparently there was a large contingent of architects in the bar, because names flew fast and furious.

"Kazuyo Sejima!" "A.T. Mann!" "Frank Lloyd Wright!"

It would have gone on but we declared it a draw and moved on.

"Keep a secret" was also declared a draw.

"Better cooks" said a woman. This time I jumped in.

"Rick Bayless, Jacques Pepin, the Deen Brothers," I named a few more before I ran out. Okay, so I watch a lot of PBS.

Amy answered for the women. "Paula Deen, who do you think taught those boys? Rachel Ray, Lydia Bastianich, JULIA CHILD!"

Another draw, but the crowd was having fun.

"Time for one more. I'll make it easy, just for the women. Name one thing that there is no doubt women can do better than men."

There were a few tries, but nothing major. There was a woman waving, trying to get our attention. I pointed her out to Amy.

I had noticed her before, it was hard to miss a woman of such beauty. She had long black curly hair that hung halfway down her back, skin a light cream color that spoke of non white ancestry. A great body, and full sensuous lips. Oddly she was with a group of women. I couldn't see a man alive not wanting to claim her. Ladies night out, I guess.

She stood, looked right at me, and smiled brightly.

"Fake an orgasm," she said in an upper crust British accent. The crowd roared in laughter, as the air drained out of my accordion.

"Men, we stand defeated," I said into the microphone, "give our winner a round of applause."

Amy jumped back onstage, and we played an upbeat, rousing set of reels and jigs.

We had fooled around with some old Van Morrison stuff. I didn't get to sing much because of my pipes, just when I had the accordion or a guitar, but they let me sing this one. I looked right at the woman who had won the contest while I sang 'Brown Eyed Girl'. An odd look came on her face, then a little smile. I think she enjoyed it.

After the show I saw her talking to Amy and Molly. Molly rode back with me from the club, grinning at me.

"What?" I said, finally.

"Somebody likes you!" she said in a little singsong voice. It made her sound like she was ten years old.

I couldn't help grinning. "Now who would be interested in an old broken down bagpipe player?"

She punched my arm. "You're not old! And you're a fine looking man. I've often thought your ex-wife was an idiot to let you go."

"I have to say I agree with you there, baby. Now, which one of those geriatric goddesses was interested in me?"

I couldn't keep the humor out of my voice. It had to be the cougar at the club, fifty if she was a day. Still looking good after some very expensive work, probably courtesy of an ex. She was definitely prowling. I shot her down gently, and noticed her at closing time on the arm of a very drunk twenty something, smirking like crazy as he latched down on one of her store bought boobs.

Molly laughed.

"Not them. This one is younger than you and very pretty. She was asking all kinds of questions about you while we packed up, most noticeably if you were attached. I was very happy to report your single status. I'd bet my fiddle she makes a run at you tomorrow."

"Did this dream woman have a name? Will I recognize her?"

"As much as you were staring at her tonight, I don't think you'll have any trouble. She was the contest winner. Her name is Amanda Abasi."

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You're kidding right? She's way out of my league. And I'd bet my life she's under thirty."

Molly giggled. "You're probably right on both counts. Still doesn't stop her from being interested."

She leaned back against the seat and was asleep instantly. Molly sleeps like a rock, and it took me and Robbie both to get her out of the truck. He was grinning.

"What'd you think?"

"About what?"

"About Amanda. Personally, I think she needs glasses. Or she might have been drunk. Maybe she has a redhead fetish."

He was enjoying this way too much.

"What I think is it's not nice to tease an old man about something he could never have. Goodnight, Robbie."

We were playing there again the next night, a rare thing for us. I thought about it as I fell asleep.

.........................................

True to what Molly said, she was back the next night, with just one girlfriend. She smiled, talked to us on breaks, told us how much she enjoyed our music.

The ice finally broke while we doing our 'upskirt' skit.

Molly, Tony, and I were on stools with acoustic instruments, doing some slow ballads, when Molly started giggling on cue. We stopped playing.

"Anything wrong?"

"No, no, let's keep playing."

Two minutes later she was giggling again.

"For heavens sake girl! What is wrong with you?"

She giggled once more and pointed at Amanda and her friend. "They're trying to look up your kilt!"

I dropped my tin whistle, grabbed a mike, and jumped off the stage, charging them. "Is that true, young lassies? Trying to get a cheap thrill off a poor, hard-working musician? Shame on you."

Her friend was almost crawling under the table in embarrassment, while Amanda just grinned. I kept ranting. "I have feelings you know. I'm not just a piece of meat. Well, answer me! And I'm up here, stop staring!"

Amanda just grinned and shouted out so the microphone picked up.

"You all think so. I admit it, I was staring. Just what DO you have on under that kilt?"

I played it up for all I was worth.

"So this is what it's about. You want a peek at me knickers? Pervert. Well, go on then, have a good look, ye shameless hussy!"

I turned my back and bent over, sticking my rear in her face. This is usually the part where they glow red and stutter. She just reached over and flipped up my kilt, exposing the black Speedo I wore when we did this, just in case. Like I said, I work out a lot, and I'm proud to say I'm in pretty good shape.