(Editor’s Note: Rick Broussard’s late mother wrote a rhymed essay titled “The Built-in-Fingernail” as an homage to Erma Bombeck. It was never published or shared with Erma and “sadly all traces of (my mother’s) opus vanished with her death about 25 years ago.” This piece is Rick’s “effort to close the loop on (his) mother’s dream in some small way.”
My mother always believed she could write
And her poetic musings took over at night. […]

“There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.” — Erma Bombeck
You’ll get a chuckle out of the book title “I Lost Everything in the Post Natal Depression” if you know what the phrase “post-natal depression” refers to and if, having studied the Great Depression in high school history class, you are aware that many people lost everything they owned in the Great Depression of the 1930s.  […]

According to the National Center for Health Statistics (NCHS), about half of Americans are currently trying to lose weight, many of them employing strategies like switching from peanut M&M’s to the plain variety, or drinking more Cherry Coke to increase their intake of fruit.  Unfortunately, most diet plans fail, and any calories burned through the exhausting process of signing up for a gym membership are quickly regained through the consumption of a recovery donut on the way home to take a nap.  […]

When my husband asked, “Where did you hide my black socks?”
I replied, “I thought they were mine. I put them in the hall closet. That’s where I always put them.”
He immediately went to investigate. Sure enough, nothing was there.
He arrived back, hands on his hips, saying, “Stop messing with me.”
What is wrong with this man? I took him by the hand and led him to his chest of drawers. When I opened the top right drawer, […]

’Twas midnight on a Saturday in Greenwich Village. Walking  through the NYC crowd, I had just hit Bleecker Street. A horn honked the distinctive tune of “Y.M.C.A.” I knew it could belong to only one person —my wife Lyn’s gay cousin Maxwell.
“Need a ride, sailor?” he teased as he pulled over to the curb. I laughed and jumped into his car.
“Glad you happened by, Max. Lyn’s out of town for the weekend. I’m bored,” I confessed. […]