Erma! Calling Erma! Where Were You, Erma, My Muse?

The winners of the 2016 Erma Bombeck Writer's Competition have been announced. I was not among them. Drat. However, that means that I can now share my entry with you - I don't think there is anything in the rules that say I can't. I added the link to the winning entries below if you are interested in reading them. I especially enjoyed the first place entries in the Human Interest categories.

Here's what I submitted, Humor Category.

Battle Hymn of the Book Club

Have you ever taken sandwiches to a book club luncheon? I have. We need to talk turkey.

The invitation came in a group email with a directive to "reply all" so everyone could see what each was bringing. Being the newbie, I held back. One doesn't like to breach pot-luck etiquette at her first meeting.

Replies started coming in. "I'm bringing a green salad," said the first.

"Spinach salad from me!" crowed another.

"Hey, all! I'm bringing carrot raisin salad."

Wholesome bunch, I thought. Leafy greens, cabbage slaw, three bean salad, cucumbers in yogurt dressing, kale Caesar. (Better stock up on Bean-o, I mumbled to myself.)

"I've got the quinoa!" wrote one gal. 

"The quinoa?" I didn't like her tone. It was like, "Thank goodness, SOMEBODY remembered the quinoa! We HAVE to have QUINOA, for the love of all that's high fibre!" I've never trusted a food with no taste of its own. Quinoa indeed. Those were fighting words!

"Rise up, carbs!" It was my rallying cry. "Protein for the proletariat! Meat for the masses!"

My mission: bring comfort food to this carnage of crunch. 

My battle plan was Smoked Turkey Sliders. I bought sturdy little whole wheat rolls at our local bakery. I armed-up with the good turkey; the kind with no nitrites. I slathered the rolls with cranberry mayonnaise, piled up the poultry, suited-up each with a thin wedge of cheddar and a Granny Smith apple slice, and stuck in a party spear. Those sandwiches looked awesome; robust; healthy. Fit for hand to hand combat against a vegetarian horde.

At the appointed hour, I carried in my platter. One woman gasped when I whisked off the foil wrapper. The ladies approached the sandwiches like nervous rabbits in a foxhole; noses twitching, scraps of lettuce stuck between their front teeth. 

"Are those…..BUNS?" one sneered.

"Processed……MEAT!?!" another hissed.

"Are these….GLUTEN-free?" someone demanded.

"CHEESE!?! I don't have my Lactaid with me!" sobbed someone else.

"Tofurkey?" one asked, meekly, voice quivering.

No one dared ingest the enemy food groups. They skirted around the tray like it was a plate of plague. I did observe one woman sneaking a slider onto a napkin as she ducked into the laundry room. She returned with a dollop of cranberry mayo at the corner of her mouth. I thought she looked happy. 

But, I know when I'm beet. I gobbled one sandwich and took the remainder home. 

So, take a leaf from my book and avoid going a-fowl at your next club luncheon. All I'm saying, is give peas a chance.

Here's the link to the competition winners:

http://wclibrary.info/erma/winners_current.asp