Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Don’t Dress Like a Yak when Speaking in Public

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yak

If you want to speak in public, there are rules to follow: Pre-check your teeth for broccoli, and tame your irritable bowel syndrome. Remind the audience to turn off cell phones and stay awake because your words could change their lives. Don’t dress like a yak.

This month I spoke at two national conferences and learned the hard way to follow my proven dress code: I should wear black at all times and under all circumstances but throw in a tiny bit of color. Otherwise, I could resemble a large, woolly beast.

At the prestigious Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, Ohio, I obeyed my rules. I felt confident in my chosen wardrobe that included a black jacket with a turquoise shell. I was ready to mingle with other speakers and comediennes half my age, and some of us even created entire comedy routines when we met in the bathroom of the hotel. On one occasion, humorists and authors Stacey Lowrey Gustafson and Anne Bardsley posed with me for a festive photo next to the latrines. It was a special moment.

Erma 3 commediennes

More than 350 writers attended the conference, some with an abundant sense of style and a few who didn’t care. I presented two workshops, one on publishing and one on writing humor. Because I’m larger than a bread box but have the same shape, I always wear black. The dark color diminishes my football linebacker shoulders and attempts to hide my super-sized bosom that over the decades has dropped from perky to pendulum. If I know the presentation will be videotaped, I refuse to turn sideways because I will block out any redeemable image. There is a smidgen of pride somewhere buried in that incredible hulk.

For my presentations, I wore a conservative black knit dress and a long black and white tweed sweater. I often felt like a fraud as I encouraged others to have self-confidence and revel in their majesty as I tugged at my jacket to hide the body that longed to be a single-digit size again. But damn, the dessert cart offered cheesecake and it would go to waste if I didn’t have a few samples. And it’s not right to allow a bottle of wine to sit half-empty and forlorn. It must be consumed for the greater good of society.

erma speaker 2016

Two weeks after the Erma Bombeck conference, I spoke at the BAM Bloggers at Midlife Conference in Las Vegas, Nevada. More than 150 attendees came, and I knew I found my tribe. The first night, I wore a black tank top with a colorful long vest. I took a chance on going sleeveless, but no one vomited. I met some best friends I had know for years only online, including Donna Beckman Tagliaferri.

BAM donna elaine crop

However, for my presentation, my brain left my body as I decided to go with an outfit that broke my rules. I chose a long vest again but the material was in a bulky, hairy knit of cream dappled with brown leather squares. I resembled a yak. I knew I had made a mistake as I lumbered to the podium with Emmy Award winning author and screenwriter Judy Rothman Rofe and dynamo author Janie Emaus. They were dressed in solid colors and both were the size of Thumbelina. I wanted to detour out the side door and join my herd of grazing animals on a hillside far, far away.

BAM panel

Our panel discussion was vibrant and informative, and I was grateful for the table that hid half of my body. We breezed through the presentation and no one stood to yell, “Why didn’t you wear black? You always wear black!”

I continued with the outrageous fashion mistakes when I changed into a Vegas-inspired blouse for dinner. In the photos, the silly top looked like a tablecloth and I resembled a retired matron playing cards on a cruise ship. But my friends didn’t seem to mind because I made them look so much better.

BAM Group

The event was salvaged at a Disco-themed night when I happily wiggled into my black dress adored with sparkles and fat-shaping Spandex. As the music permeated the room, I danced with wild abandon and laughed myself silly as I gyrated to the beat of the Bee Gees and ABBA. The Yak died and I became the Dancing Queen. It was Friday night and the lights were low. I was looking out for the place to go. The dress was black but covered with bling. I raised my arms and sang out loud:

“You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life.

See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Dancing Queen.”

BAM dancer crop

The moral of the story is that some of us are too concerned with wearing basic black when we could add some sparkles and go dancing. After an hour of Disco music, no one really cared what anyone was wearing or if they were even human. It was all a matter of “I Will Survive” while “Staying Alive.”

Fringe Fashion Failure

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fringe dress 2

 

I felt feisty, fun, and a fabulously festive in my new dress festooned with fluttering fringe. The long strands covered body parts that needed to be hidden after years of neglect, gravity, and buttered scones, but the swaying material allowed gratuitous glimpses of legs that once rivaled the gams in pinup posters hung in greasy automotive shops across the country. I was one hot grandmother.

I loved my new outfit and eagerly prepared for a night at an elegant soiree. The first trial came when I attempted to pull on a coat to keep me warm against the winter chill. As I wiggled into my wrap, the fringe on the sleeves of the dress snagged, bunched, and clumped until I resembled an irritated pig wrapped in twine. Stray strands knotted around my neck and hiked the back of the dress over my butt. This was not a pretty vision, and I began to feel less glamorous.

After waddling to the car, I proceeded to the party where I encountered more challenges and calamities. Removing the coat revealed a tangled mass of disheveled strands that seemed to be embroiled in a fight-to-the-death fringe battle. I clawed at the material in a desperate attempt to untangle the hairball that was consuming my outfit. Once adjusted, I walked slowly through the venue so I wouldn’t disrupt the delicate free flow of the garment. Static cling became the new enemy. At any given moment, a rogue fringe would leap out and adhere to the pants of a tall handsome stranger. At least my dress had good taste.

fringe dress

The evening progressed nicely, and I enjoyed gushing compliments about my attire. I assumed the worst was behind me and celebrated with several glasses of fine Cabernet. After a few hours, the wine needed to exit the body, so I sashayed to the restroom. This call of nature became a cry of the wild.

I proceeded to gather the fringe in a ball around my waist so I could sit and assume the position. It became apparent that wasn’t any chance to control what seemed like a million independent and defiant strands, and the wine didn’t help my concentration. By the time I finished my duty, I realized there was one more dilemma. One hand was needed to secure and employ the necessary toilet paper.

I shifted the wad of fringe to one side and attempted to secure it with one hand while I fumbled for the paper. The effort was futile. After achieving contortions only accomplished by professional gymnasts in the circus, I managed to drop the paper on the floor and the fringe fell into the toilet. I momentarily lost my mind.

Not one to give up easily, I grabbed more paper, finished the flush, and jumped off the comedy commode. Liquid dripped onto the floor from wet stripes of sorry, violated fringe so I grabbed sections to squeeze the excess moisture. Soon my hands, my dress, and the entire bathroom reeked of toilet water. I washed and dried my hands, took a deep breath, and joined the party, dripping all the way, leaving a raked pattern of fringe droppings on the carpet.

Reluctant to sit down, I faked my way through the evening and was hesitant to consume too much more wine or water in case there were security cameras around the bathroom and I was prohibited from entering. When it was time to leave, I wrapped my coat around my shoulders so I wouldn’t need to repeat the torment of the sleeves.

At home, I removed the dress, buried it in the dry cleaning bag, jumped into my dowdy but fringe-free jammies, poured a glass of wine, and relaxed in comfort. I may donate the dress to charity and allow someone else to enjoy its charms. But, for a brief moment in time, I felt festive and fashionable and those sweet memories will last long after the humiliation is gone. As for future fashion choices, I’ll avoid the fringe element of society.

 

(Featured on The Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop blog March 27, 2016.  http://humorwriters.org/2016/03/27/fringe-fashion-failure/)

Prom Dress or Pole Dancer Costume?

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gold dress

One of the many advantages of being a crusty curmudgeon is that I can shake my head, roll my eyes, and mutter about this spring’s sexualized prom dresses displayed by petulant teenage girls taking duck-faced selfies while festooned like bridesmaids and pole dancers pecking about on teeny high-heeled sandals. The guys will be suffering inside a tuxedo while lamenting that the tux rental cost more than a tank of gas and a case of beer. All the commercialized commotion is for a dance that they’ll attend for a few minutes.

According to CBS News Money Watch, the average cost of going to the prom is around $1,000 to cover the proposal, attire, limousine rental, tickets, flowers, pictures, and after-party festivities. That doesn’t include additional expenses for hair, nails, pedicures, and make-up applications, presumably for the females.

Getting dressed up to go to prom is a special tradition, and I don’t mind the youngsters removing their holey jeans, trench coats, and dog collars to wear some fancy duds. I do reserve the freedom to poke fun at some of the dresses. I grew up on a farm, sewed my own simple prom dress, and was escorted to the dance as a passenger in a cattle truck. I still had a great time, even with a speck of manure on my sensible shoes.

For fun indignation, let’s review some of this year’s fashions.

cinderella dress

The Promgirl.com website offers that latest styles in prom dresses, along with tips for planning and surviving the perfect prom. One voluminous gown, appropriately called the Disney Cinderella Forever Enchanted Keepsake Gown is only $495 and is perfect for an aspiring princess. However, any dress that needs six names is excessive.

maxi dress

For only $49, you can buy the Floor Length Maxi Dress that doesn’t even come close to being enchanted or a keepsake. However, it might come in handy in the summer to cover the picnic table.

black romper

For the indecent ingénue, there’s this spring’s Black Romper for $69. This ensemble should come with a $2 condom. At least the Disney Cinderella Forever Enchanted Keepsake Gown requires a bit of imagination. It’s interesting to note that prom.com offers 62 styles of prom dresses for pregnant women, just in time for the dances that will come eight months after the spring fling.

gold dress

The “shimmering foil jersey fabric with seductive mesh detailing” is advertised as a knockout prom dress that accentuates all the right curves. Those of us with back fat and the desire to sit down should not attempt this garment. Not many parents are buying the outfit because the price is reduced from $278 to $99, but that’s a bargain for any future stripper. A credit card reader is optional.

prom gown

One sophisticated prom dress costs $1,224. You can get the same look by shrinking a $5 t-shirt and wrapping yourself in $45 worth of satin. Stash the remaining $1,174 into your college fund and plan your own clothing line.

Maybe it’s with nostalgia instead of criticism that I disapprove of modern styles. I vaguely remember being young and idealistic when preparing for the prom, and I have fond memories of all the crepe paper streamers, printed dance cards, loud gymnasiums, and grand processions. It was that unique time when we all wanted to grow up, and we didn’t have a clue what that meant. So, I’ll smile at all the young couples stuffed into costumes, corsets, and cummerbunds, and encourage them to enjoy life before they turn into cantankerous curmudgeons. Just stay off of my lawn.

 

Don’t Match Your Socks with Your Shirt

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epcot 1989

I love socks. I grew up in Idaho where the winters require boots and a collection of thick, colorful socks, enough to fill an entire dresser drawer. Also, my pitiful feet resemble hooves fringed with bald sausages, and they practically scream to be covered. I wore socks during childbirth because my feet were uglier than all the mess associated with labor and delivery.

While disheveled and haphazard in every other part of my life, I am fastidious about my sock organization. There are categories for work, play, sports, holidays, and whimsy. It’s a sad day, indeed, when a hole appears in the heel or toe of a favorite sock. As a teenager, I knew how to drop a light bulb into the worn sock and sew the offensive gap with a needle and thread. I don’t do that anymore.

socks donut

I’ve also outgrown my corporate fashion sense that ordered me to match my socks with my shirt. I have a favorite photograph that shows my children and me at the Epcot Center at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida. The vacation seems like only a few days ago, but it’s been two decades. At the time, I was a manager at Boise Cascade Corporation and wore coordinated suits at work so felt that my socks must match my shirt during leisure times. In the photo, I’m wearing white shoes and shorts with red socks and shirt. I don’t do that anymore, either.

Here are some distinct reasons why you should increase your sock collection:

  1. They fit. You don’t need to worry about trying on various sizes because there are basically two choices: medium fits shoe size 6 through 10, and large fits size 10 and above.
  2. They are inexpensive. Sure, you can spend $25 for a good pair for skiing, but balance that with $2 for a 2-pack for everyday wear. It’s less painful to throw away cheap socks when they are tattered and threadbare.
  3. They complement your mood. If I’m in sophisticated fashion boots with a classic winter outfit, I often wear outrageous, unmatched socks to soothe the inner rebel.
  4. Others know what gift you’ll like. My daughter always gives me socks as a present because she knows I’ll love and wear them. It’s personal and fun but not demanding.
  5. They bring comfort. On those rare occasions when you get to lounge around with a good book and a plate of cookies, toss the shoes and stay cozy in a favorite pair.

socks colorful 2

Here’s one more recommendation about socks: Remember that a colorful life demands more than wearing boring attire. Limit your use of white socks, and tiptoe out of your comfort zone into some snazzy, bold patterns. Search on line at websites such as www.boldsocks.com or www.joyofsocks.com. You and your feet will be happy.

 

 

Why Funny is Always Fashionable

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old woman laughing

You know you’re at peace with yourself and the universe if you can enter a crowded social function, scan the room, and then join the group creating the most laughter. After a certain age, you don’t waste time with pseudo-intellectuals, plastic-faced divas, or over-styled drama queens; especially if they’re your relatives. Just trot your sensible, low-heeled shoes over to those having fun and then laugh until you snort.

Over the years, most women have endured numerous charity galas, corporate soirees, and elegant events that required dressing in more than a “This Wine is Making me Awesome” t-shirt, Yoga pants, and flip-flops (my favorite outfit.) In our twenties and thirties, we started preparing weeks in advance; trying on various outfits, scheduling hair and nail appointments, and crash dieting to lose a few pounds. By our forties, the routine became less rigorous unless the occasion was a dinner party with our boss or a romantic evening with a significant other. Usually, those events did not involve the same person.

By age 50, however, we said screw the rules. We gauged the importance of an event by the need to shave our legs or not. What to wear came down to what garment would hide last week’s lasagna binge. There was a time when identical outfits would have caused one of us to retreat to the coat closet and desperately paw for something to throw over our shoulders. Now if I’m attending a fancy function and see another woman wearing a replica of my dress, I congratulate her on her exquisite taste. If she’s over 50, she’ll laugh and say, “Got it on sale for only $150!” We high-five and sashay to the wine bar.

Another scene to avoid forever is the Sugar Daddy with Arm Candy couple. She’ll be giggling about play dates and nannies and he’ll be sweating and adjusting his pacemaker. If the hostess seats you next to such a twosome, feign a sudden onset of gastrointestinal flu and discreetly find another table, preferably with a middle-age couple who are holding hands and laughing. It doesn’t matter if they came together.

High fashion is not my top priority. I usually wear classic, quality clothes that have timeless appeal, such as my favorite 10-year-old St. John knit jackets. They cost a fortune new but I’ve worn them for years and they always look good. And, I’m a strong advocate of the simple black dress adorned with fun accessories. And there is no way these well-traveled feet will ever again feel the inside of a high-heeled shoe. That just won’t happen because high-heels are painful and I choose not to hurt. An elongated calf perched on a $300 strip of leather just doesn’t matter that much.

While laughing with new and old friends at a society event, it’s tempting to sneak a peek at the younger, more perfect women. They arrive with a flair of confidence, pause to pose on their six-inch heels, and jut their tiny, sequin-covered bodies into the spotlight. Yes, they are proud of their flat-stomachs, bobbing cleavages, and toned arms. Their hair, makeup, and nails are flawless, and heads turn in appreciation. I immediately start humming “The Girl from Ipanema.”

When she walks, she’s like a samba

That swings so cool and sways so gentle

That when she passes, each one she passes

Goes “A-a-a-h.”

I never was that woman, not even on my most magnificent occasion. But, I’m finally happy in my own skin, every wrinkled, spotted inch of it. I’d much rather be with the witty group, the ones who are telling humorous stories, and the ones who know that Ipanema Girl someday will be fifty. Then she, too, will know that funny is fashionable.