Image courtesy of marin / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I’m doing stand-up comedy at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop this Saturday. I received an email from the conference that 18 of the 40 attendees were selected. I’m trying to get over the jitters as we speak. This year there are 350 attendees plus speakers.

Back by popular demand, I decided my skit would be “To The Woman Who Fondled My Breast.” I made a few revisions below. I will be doing three different voices: my own, my thoughts and the female technician. I hope I can keep it all straight.

Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop on April 10-12, 2014*

The Bombeck Workshop is the only one in the country devoted to both humor and human interest writing. Through the workshop, the University of Dayton and the Bombeck family honor one of America’s most celebrated storytellers and humorists.  Over the past decade, the workshop has attracted such household names as Dave Barry, Art Buchwald, Nancy Cartwright, Don Novello, Garrison Keillor, Gail Collins, Connie Schultz, Adriana Trigiani and Alan Zweibel.

The workshop typically begins on a Thursday evening and continues through Saturday evening, ending with an attendee stand-up show. It features more than two dozen professional humor and human interest writers on its faculty, offering sessions on the craft of writing, turning an interest into a profession, marketing, publishing and more.

* Above information was copied from the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop website at http://humorwriters.org/2014workshop/ 

Erma Bombeck Stand-Up Comedy Routine

Hi, my name is Stacey Gustafson. This story goes out to all the ladies.

Yesterday, a strange woman fondled my breasts and trapped me in an awkward position.

I was getting a breast exam.

If you’re like me, you postpone getting an annual mammogram for as long as possible. It hurts.  But that little voice in your head keeps nagging, “Get it over with. It won’t be so bad this time.”

At the hospital, a woman carrying a clipboard pointed to the changing area and told me to strip to the waist, put on a flimsy gown and wait for the technician.

A minute later, a stocky lady with mousey brown hair yelled, “Next.”

That’s me.

I followed her to the exam area and looked around at all the equipment. “Welcome to the torture chamber,” I said. The female technician did not find me funny.

“Oh, you’re one of those? Are you going to complain the whole time? Would you rather get cancer?”

Gee, that’s a leap. Lighten up, woman.

“You must have a low tolerance for pain.”

That’s it, woman. One more word and I’m gonna let it rip.

But I decided to complain until AFTER my mammogram. Didn’t want the machine to “accidentally” break in the middle and leave me trapped in its grip.

She pressed me against the mammogram machine then shoved my head to the right. “Now push your butt out. Bend your right knee. Suck in your stomach. Hold your breath.”

Is that all? Want me to sing the Star Spangled Banner? Recite the alphabet backwards?

Then she manhandled my boobs like a butcher on a side of beef. She squeezed, prodded and groped me into submission.

Hey, where’s my small talk?

“Now don’t move,” she said as she walked to the control panel.

Where would I go? If I fall, I am going to have to buy new bras.

The machine flattened my breast like a Swedish pancake. Then, I adjusted my weight to my other leg.

“This will be faster if you cooperate,” she hissed.

When it ended, she tossed me my gown. “See how easy that was? Aren’t you embarrassed you complained?”

I warned you.

“Lady, for your information, I have an unusually high tolerance for pain. I delivered two babies, 10 pounds each, one without pain medication.” Take that.  “And I’ve had shoulder surgery, a gallbladder attack and get my eyebrows waxed every two months.”

Now who’s the baby?

I grabbed my things and scooted out. But I have one final thing to say, it still hurts!

This message is not intended to endorse missing your mammogram.

 I’d love to hear your stories about standing up in front of an audience. Leave a comment.