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So, you wanna read more Earl?

He would no doubt have said, "You're a glutton for punishment."  We would have said, "You're crazy, Earl!  We like your yarns!"

So, here are some more selections from the man who protested he couldn't write.

Wanna tell his kidsyou disagree with Earl's self-deprecating assessments?

See the box below for comments we will forward to them.  You can also have them for yourself, along with other wonderful pieces from our grownup writers:

Buy "Stories from the Heart"



By Earl Boretz

Retirement, at least for me, is not all it’s cracked up to be.  One day I saw an opportunity for a Senior Improv Group.  I became part of that group.  The person in charge was going to miss our next get-together.  He had a woman substitute for him.  She was a very talented lady who communicated not only through word but by facial expression.  Although none of us were aware of it, she was the star in a new play titled, “Midnight Catechism.”  She gave anyone who wanted them free tickets. 

We went out for dinner and went to the theater.  We met her in the lobby and I introduced my wife Ilene to her and other members of the Improv group.  This was a one woman show.  She was dressed as a nun, playing a teacher at a school.   She had a quick mind, and keen observation skills.  For instance, she saw a guy chewing gum and asked someone in the first row to pass back a small piece of paper to put his gum in.  Then she scolded him for chewing gum in class.  

The performance lasted about two hours.  Ilene just couldn’t stop laughing, couldn’t stop talking about it, and mentioned it to all her friends.   

It was her enjoyment that made it such a pleasurable experience for me.  The play became a big success and is still playing.


Below is Earl's take on the same assignment Frieda wrote about on our More Tails for Grownups page.  See if you can guess.  If not, scroll down to the bottom of this screen.

By Earl Boretz

It was completely unexpected.  I was just sitting there at the party, totally involved with my own thoughts.  All heads turned simultaneously, as if choreographed.  There in the doorway stood the most stunning woman I've ever seen.  Not only was she perfect, but her clothes and accessories demonstrated impeccable taste.  Her jacket had a deep v-neck and was cut in a circular fashion with two large white buttons holding it closed.  The jacket was a dark blue, almost navy in color.  Under it was a white blouse.  It was so white you could almost see a glare.  Under the collar was a bright red ribbon about an inch wide.  The contrast of color was magnificent.  Her skirt matched the jacket and her shoes were the color of the ribbon.  She was blond, with deep blue eyes, and lips that matched the ensemble.  Her nail polish was also a perfect match.  She reeked with class.   

I don't know about anyone else, but my eyes began at the floor and slowly meandered over every shape and curve until I reached the end.  Having recovered from the captivating experience, my mind began to explore avenues of introduction.  My first thought was, "Are you kidding?  You can't really be serious!"  My second thought, "Hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained."  Well, here goes nothing. 

I cleared my throat, and did all I could to make myself look good.  I walked over and said, "Hi!  My name is Don Juan," trying to break the ice with a little humor.  She cracked a smile, and said, "Hi to you!  My name is Queen Isabella."  We shook hands.  She was as pleasant and nice as she was beautiful.  An unexpected combination.   

I asked if I could buy her a drink and she said, "Sure!  I don't want to pass up a drink with Don Juan."  I complimented her attire.  I asked what she did for a living.  Well, everyone can't be perfect.  She said she was an attorney in private practice.  Thoughts began going through my mind, what if she asks what I do for a living?  I thought neurosurgeon, rocket scientist, research physicist, chemist.  Eh, what the heck?  I'll tell her the truth.  I'm a sanitation engineer.  It didn't phase her.  I couldn't believe it.  She smelled as good as she looked.  She used just the right amount of perfume, with a subtle aroma.  Her makeup, if she used any, and she was a woman, was also perfect.  I was really feeling great; every male in the room was eyeing me.  I really wanted to yell at them, "Eat your hearts out!"  But this was a class act, and no way was I going to jeopardize it. 

It was time to unmask.  I'm pretty sure she didn't think I was Don Juan.  I told her my real name and she told me hers.  I nearly fell off my barstool.  You can't be serious!  Honestly, you're really Little Goldilocks.  She said, "The one and only."   

Then it dawned on me, I never knew what happened to her when she ran out of the house of the Three Bears.  I said, "But that's a fairy tale!" 

She looked deeply into my eyes and said, "If you think an attorney would date a sanitation engineer, you, too, are living in a fairy tale."


By Earl Boretz

I was coming out of the supermarket before the strike when I was approached by a stranger.  He asked if I would like free tickets to a TV show.  As they were free I said why not, and thanked him.  I read the ticket carefully, and thought it was going to be a kid show.   It was the "Captain Kangaroo Show." 

I don't know how it happened.  I was on my way to the show when I passed a bar.  I stopped in and had a few drinks.  Once again, I was on my way, feeling pretty good.  Somehow, I entered the wrong door.  I was lost.  I continued to fumble around when I ended up in a green room.  There was food and grog for the taking.  Not being one to pass up such an opportunity, I availed myself, indulged would be a better word.  A few more drinks and I encountered a pink kangaroo named Ashley.  Soon there were some pink elephants, even a pink cat named Pinky.  I was in the midst of a pink zoo. 

I immediately yelled for help.  Someone came.  I told them I am allergic to animals.  I began to sneeze and someone handed me a pink tissue.  I awoke the next day.  The pink kangaroo and all the other animals were gone.  I had a terrible headache, but other than that, I was in the pink.




What started Earl (and Frieda) on this story?

Give up?  The idea was to write about the following:

You're in the Green Room, waiting to go on a talk show.  There's a kangaroo in the room.  What happens?



Your name (Required)

Your e-mail address  (Required)

Stories reprinted with permission from Earl Boretz and family.
Collection © 2004 Ina Hillebrandt



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