I have come to the conclusion that I failed when it came time to learn sophistication.

I grew up in Spokane, where some places practiced sophistication and other places did not. I lived in the other places, so I had to learn from the movies (like everyone else I knew). In those movies, I saw sophistication in the glamorous, beautifully dressed women holding their cigarettes daintily in one hand and a martini in the other.

First, I tried hard to learn how to smoke. My parents both smoked and so did many of my high school friends, so how hard could it be? I watched my Mother light up. She put the cigarette in her mouth, scratched the kitchen match on the side of the match box, held it to the end of the white tube and inhaled deeply, then she placed the cigarette in an ashtray and she would smile and go on about whatever she was doing. I watched my Dad do pretty much the same thing, only he left the cigarette hanging in the side of his mouth, even when he was milking the cow or chopping wood for kindling.

I was 16 and my friend said, “Here. Give it a try.” Her name was Sherlynn. (I wonder what ever happened to her?) So I did what I thought you were supposed to do. I put the “ciggy” in my mouth (Sherlyn said this was what to call it).

What a terrible taste, to say nothing about the burning on my tongue after it was lit. It was quite a while before I tried it again (with the same results), and so ended my smoking days.

Pretty much the same thing happened with drinking a martini. My Dad knew I was showing interest in drinking, so although he usually drank beer or whiskey, he did have the occasional martini and, on one occasion (I was around 16) he said, “Here, have a drink. Take a big swallow so you get the full affect.” After much sputtering and gagging, I gave up martinis too.

So now, this only left dressing the part of a worldly or sophisticated lady. This I worked at for many years. I wore high heels every day to work, I wore my hair in stylish up-dos, I followed the skirt lengths of fashion to the letter (and seldom wore slacks unless I was scrubbing floors), and generally acted like a lady that was sophisticated (never mind the fact that I was woefully uninformed about life in general).

And now we come to the point of this piece. I have decided I have now flunked (big time) the art of sophistication and all signs thereof.  I no longer wear high heels, I wear slacks (or, perish the thought, jeans) every day. I never learned to smoke gracefully (or in any way). I still can’t handle a martini and I even use a swear word occasionally.  So, I guess I am not very sophisticated.

Sorry to announce this, and I hope my friends will forgive me for my failure.

— Contact columnist Donna Lee Anderson at WellToldTales@aol.com