We got invited to a St. Paddy’s Day party.
“Bring a limerick,” the invitation said. “It’s a contest.”
A limerick contest! Surely I could win.
Or come in second. Or third.
“Extra points for bawdy limericks.”
Hmm. A bawdy limerick.
I’d never written anything bawdy.
I let my menopausal mind wander.
How funny to picture partygoers tossing off their clothes and streaking, especially since at least some guests would be OF A CERTAIN AGE.
I worked hard on my limerick. The words. The theme. The rhythm. The rhyme.
“May I illustrate it?” I asked our host a few days before the party.
“Sure,” she said.
I had never drawn a naked man before.
At least not an anatomically correct naked man.
On party night, I kept my limerick folded in my pocket until my turn came to step up to the mic.
Then with my best dramatic flair, I read the limerick.
When I finished, I handed my paper to the judges.
Twenty minutes later…
Time to announce the winners!
After a Bailey’s Irish Cream shot to calm my nerves, I held my breath.
And then I let that breath out with a sigh.
I didn’t really lose. I got Honorable Mention, along with a mess of other limerick-writers.
The booby prize I received for being the only partygoer to illustrate a limerick spurred me on to a new venture.
Someone told me I didn’t have the boy parts right on my drawing. I’ll need to do some studying up.
Organize your own streak, Barbara!
For the life of me, I can’t get a man to write a post for Friend for the Ride.
Wonder if I can get any men to attend my streak?