Giving a talk in front of a bunch of strangers is one thing. Giving a talk in front of a large group of people you know is something else. If you flop with strangers you can always rationalize, “I’m never going to see those people again.” However, when I was invited to give a talk at my new Senior Residence I knew that not only would I see those people again, I’d run into them walking down the hall, getting my mail and at dinner in the dining rooms.  Now that is pressure! If I flopped, I’d have to wear a mask over my entire face.

It was going to be a big crowd in an unfamiliar venue. No one had ever given a speech in the newly built Ranch House. When the doors opened the people kept coming, and I knew it was going to be a full house. The topic of my talk was, “What’s So Funny?” If no one laughed I’d have to change the title to, “What’s Absolutely Not Funny At All?”

Before I began, the microphone  was hung around my neck and switched on. I was relieved that at least if I talked loud enough no one would be able to fall asleep. I then asked the audience to turn off their cell phones. That was like telling a toddler that his security blanket would have to go into the washing machine. I told the audience that if their cell phones went off during my talk that it would probably be their grandson calling from prison asking for more money. That went pretty well because no one threw a rotten tomato. As the talk progressed the laughter grew louder, and I prayed that no one would swallow their mask. People are so litigious.

When I was finished everyone applauded  A LOT!  Was it because they had enjoyed the speech, or were they glad it was finally over and they could go home for a nap? Then the question period began. I made up many answers, but was thrown for a loop when someone asked, “Who’s your favorite author?” I should have seen that one coming, but did not. The only author I could remember under pressure was Frances Hodgson Burnett who wrote the children’s book, THE SECRET GARDEN. That was pretty lame.  I should have said—“MOSES!” His writing was succinct, and in 10 simple bossy sentences his self-help tablet book was a huge success— and he became famous. Luckily, he only had to rewrite them once.

After the speech a group of rowdy friends surprised me with a celebratory dinner with wine and flowers and smiley faced cupcakes and candy corn—a tribute to my corny humor. Of course “All’s well that ends well” until someone says:

“That was really funny.  I didn’t know that you did anything.”

“I couldn’t make your speech. Can you do it again?”

I didn’t come because I didn’t know if you’d be funny.”

“How was it?”

“Where was it?”

“I had mohs surgery. Do you want to see the scar?”  AND—-

“I’m looking forward to attending your speech tomorrow.”

That’s the story folks, and I’m sticking to it. No ego trip here!

Esther  Blumenfeld