I Digress

Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been several weeks since my last blog. I have been very, very busy. I went to Tucson for the Annual EWGA Conference. It is a leadership conference AND coincidentally, a lot of golf is played. The most enjoyable part of the event is the annual talent competition. Our chapter won it two years ago but fell to second place in 2004. It may just be a coincidence but I was not there in 2004.

This year our leader, Bonnie, a talented singer-songwriter-choreographer from Tampa, decided that we would do a skit where we would play inebriated prospectors. Nine of us would sing solo parts to the tune of Clementine. Another 15 or so would be our chorus. I was one of the prospectors and I had a simple verse to learn. "At the 6th hole, it's a par 5, think it will eat me alive. I don't care though if I chunk it, 'cause I birdied number 5." I practiced and practiced that line and had it down pat. I drove my roommate crazy. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to remember her own verse because she had heard mine so often. During the business meetings, instead of listening to the speakers, I practiced that line in my head. That night, as we positioned ourselves onstage, I noticed that everyone else was using cue cards. I worked up a pretty decent look of disdain. "Amateurs," I said under my breath.

And so the skit began, each prospector passing the microphone to the next as her verse was finished. Finally, it was my turn. "At the 6th hole, it's a par 5, " I sang, and then NOTHING. I drew a blank. I looked at Bonnie for help. She whispered, "Start over." I started over. "At the 6th hole, it's a par 5." Again, NOTHING. At this point I looked at Bonnie and she said, "don't look at me!" The chorus then started singing MY verse while I slurred and hummed the tune. When we finished, instead of passing the microphone to the next prospector, I fell to my knees and then on my face in a pretty good impression of a drunken prospector passing out. The crowd loved it. The next singer was laughing so hard she could barely get her words out. As we left the stage, Bonnie, who only minutes before had wanted to wring my neck, hugged me and said, "You're the bomb!"

Bottom line, WE WON! Ya gotta be able to think on your feet.