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Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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A Pain in the Foot – Winning Essay for Erma Bombeck Writing Competition

February 21, 2020 By Elaine Ambrose

(Note: This essay was chosen as a winner in the 2020 Erma Bombeck Humor Writing Competition. I’ll read the essay at a reception hosted by Betsy Bombeck, Erma’s daughter, at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, Ohio, in April.)

Shock wave therapy device – for feet

I limped into the doctor’s office, grimacing with every other step. My strong right foot was ready to dance half of a festive polka, but the left foot hurt as if I were walking in a box of rocks over the smoldering ashes of my broken dreams. I explained to the doctor how the agony in my heel was worse in the morning, and I wanted to stay in bed, read books, and hire a mysterious Italian hunk named Antonio to bring me brunch and sing ballads.

“You have plantar fasciitis,” Doctor Rodgers said after manipulating my foot. The diagnosis sounded sophisticated and serious.

“Am I going to die?” I asked, mentally assessing who should receive my collection of original Beatles’ albums after the fatal fasciitis destroyed my plantar.

The doctor stifled a groan. “The plantar fascia is a fibrous tissue that extends along the bottom of your foot and connects your heel bone to your toes. Your foot hurts because the tissue has serious inflammation.”

Those were medical terms I could understand. I had issues with tissues.

“Do you jog?” The doctor peered at my matronly body covered with black sweatpants and large shirt featuring the words: “I Heart Donuts.” We both laughed.

“Do you wear high-heeled shoes?”

“Not since the Reagan Administration,” I answered. “And, only for fancy fundraising dinners. I’ll never forget the Spring Gala of 1988 when I wore silver satin heels and Lydia Zollinger spilled red wine on my shoe. I dumped the rest of her wine on the other shoe so they would match.”

Dr. Rodgers cleared her throat, indicating she didn’t care about the Spring Gala. She proceeded to describe remedies that included stretching exercises, ice packs, wraps, shoe inserts, oils, and orthopedic shoes. None of her recommendations included Antonio, my morning troubadour. She mumbled something about losing weight, but my brain had a mental block against such wicked words. Chubby people don’t need to be told to lose weight.

Then she recommended a treatment called Extracorporeal Shock Wave Therapy.

“I might be an older, full-bodied woman with a limp,” I retorted, “but I don’t need shock therapy.”

Shock Wave Therapy – 9-Second video

“The technique uses a wand to distribute shock waves over the bottom of your foot,” she explained patiently. “Most clients report immediate improvement.”

Tiffany Wilson Campbell of Matrix Regenerative Medicine in Boise tortures and tames the pain.

At the scheduled appointment, the technician moved the magic machine over my foot, promising it wouldn’t hurt. After the procedure ended, I gently stood and rejoiced because the pain was gone. I was ready for both feet to dance a lively polka down Main Street. Full of gratitude, I decided to add the technician’s name to my Will. She can have the Beatles’ albums.

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: #, #amwriting, #ErmaBombeck, #humor, #plantarfasciitis, #shockwavetherapy, #writingcontest

Naughty NextDoor: Candy Culprits and Deadly Ducks

December 12, 2019 By Elaine Ambrose

Watching for Naughty Neighbors

When I get bored watching the circus in Washington, DC, I glance at my NextDoor account to read about what’s going on in the neighborhood. The comments provide the best entertainment in town. Here are examples of recent online conversations (with my added comments) from actual adults who are allowed to own homes and walk among us:

Neighbor 1: Someone left a Secret Santa gift on my porch but a neighborhood kid stole a candy bar!
Neighbor 2: You don’t have to get snotty about it. Maybe the child was lonely and hungry.
Neighbor 3: Neither of you should eat a candy bar. I’ve seen you in shorts. Ghastly!
Neighbor 4: Give everyone a candy bar, just like the Communists. Is that why your door is painted red?
Neighbor 5: I think the Secret Santa gift was intended for me. Please bring it over after 3:00 pm.

Two women neighbours talking over a white picket fence in the 1940’s. (Photo by FPG/Getty Images)

Neighbors used to chat over the fence or take a casserole next door to discuss issues. Now they lob accusation, insults, and childish comments over the Internet instead of walking across the street. Here’s another enhanced example:

Neighbor 1: My crime camera caught a teenager prowling my porch. When I posted it here, a neighbor complained that I was publicly shaming a child.
Neighbor 2: It was cruel to post the video. His parents are drug addicts. Have some compassion.
Neighbor 1: Well, if this brat is held accountable, he won’t turn out like his loser parents.
Neighbor 3: Who are the drug addicts? Do they live on my street? Are they the ones with the purple hair and tattoos? I never liked them.
Neighbor 6: Does anyone know a good pest control company? I think there are fruit bats with rabies in my attic.
Neighbor 2: This is the “Crime & Safety” section. Post your question in the “Recommendations” category.
Neighbor 1: What? We have rabies-infected creatures in the neighborhood? What do we do?

Beware of rabid bats.

I was tempted to run away and live in the forest without any neighborhood chat groups after this haunting exchange:

Neighbor 9: Stop feeding the ducks! They need to migrate. We have too many male Mallards and they gang-rape a female and hold her head under water until she drowns.
Neighbor 10: You idiot. It’s not mating season. And if male ducks raped and killed the female ducks, there wouldn’t be anymore ducks. Get a life.
Neighbor 11: Well, I’m never taking my grandkids to the pond again to feed the ducks. They don’t need to see any duck rapes.
Neighbor 4: You liberal crybabies want to feed the ducks to keep them dependent on the government.

Around the world, people live in fear of famine, wars, natural disasters, and lethal diseases. Here, in my little corner of Meridian, Idaho, all I need to fear are candy thieves, fruit bats with rabies, gang-raping ducks, and communists. It’s not Bedford Falls as portrayed in the delightful Christmas movie with Jimmy Stewart, but still, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Filed Under: blog Tagged With: #, #amwriting, #gossip, #humor, #neighbors, #NextDoor

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