Ann Ipock
            Humorist, author, speaker

Georgetown Times

Oprah said, ‘I feel duped’ (Do what? Do what?)

By Ann Ipock                                                        February 01, 2006

At the risk of insulting Oprah Winfrey, I must say when I read her quote, “I feel duped,” referring to James Frey’s not-entirely-true-memoir A Million Little Pieces, I imagined a catchy, new pop song.
Here are my home-grown lyrics, “I feel duped — doo wap, doo wap. I feel duped — doo wap, doo wap. I feel duped — doo wap, doo wap.” Sorry, but the words didn’t get any further in my mind. However, I thought back to the late ’60s singing groups; The Shirelles, The Dixie Cups and The Supremes, when my sisters and I pantomimed their songs while holding a hair brush for a microphone.
And though “doo wap, doo wap” was a popular refrain then, it still works today. Or then again, maybe I’d change the refrain to “Do what?” “Do what?”

You see, I also feel duped, “Do what?” you say. Let me explain.
Over a year ago, my dear friend, Rose Rock, sent Oprah Winfrey a copy of my latest book, my bio and a personal letter from me. Heck, I felt I OWED Oprah a debt of gratitude! I’d heard her advice: “Live Your Best Life,” “Remembering Your Spirit” and “Transform Your Life.” I’d watched her TV show, read her magazine, bought her books.
Plus, I’d seen so many people on her show just like me — ordinary folks struggling with one thing or another: Career, finances, love hurts. So, I just knew, just absolutely KNEW she would find my situation most interesting. (So would Dr. Phil, but that’s another matter.)
Heck, Oprah was my mentor, my angel, my role model.
And yet — no reply ever came from the Diva of Daytime Talk Shows.
But, back to the quote, USA Today said, “Truth matters.” Darned straight it does!

And herein, my friends, lies my theory: If Oprah had picked my book Life Is Short, But It’s Wide (In the Southern State of Reality) for her nationwide book club pick, she most certainly would not have been duped! “Dubbed” perhaps, but not “duped.” Dubbed “insightful, representative and shrewd” to have picked ME for her book club selection, but certainly not duped!
That’s because my memoirs are 100 percent true.
I’ve got the weary, confused, downtrodden and hopeless to back me up. For instance, my ex co-workers at the dental office can attest to the fact that yes, indeed, I got the mayor’s mustache caught in my dental hygiene polisher — which nearly killed him and maimed me (emotionally) for life.

Myrtle Beach TV show-host Diane DeVaughn Stokes is a witness to another terrible accident; where at Coastal Federal Baseball Field, I got hit in the head — not by a foul ball — but by a 1-1/2 inch roofing screw that was knocked loose by the errant foul ball. (Diane was sitting in front of me.)
My sister remembers well the day in Dilliards when my own shoes came up missing.
A super-savings shopper confessed (after my thorough search) she found them below the rack of sale shoes and was awaiting a price check.

Another witness for Oprah: The dean of a local technical school (where my cake decorating class was being held) can recant the tale of my driving over an orange highway cone in the pot-holed, gravel parking lot on that “dark and stormy night,” thereby causing the cone to get sucked up under my wheel base.
He probably remembers taking his life into his own hands (amongst thunder and lightning), playing tug- of-war with that menacing cone. My husband would swear out an affidavit that yes, it’s true I lost my car in the mall parking lot after the movie during our daughter Katie’s 8-year old birthday party.

He had half of the birthday guests in his car, and I had the other half.
They went on to our home, enjoying ice cream and cake, while I searched and sweated for a solid hour with four frantic kids perched at my heels in the scorching 90-degree plus heat. (How was I to know the theater had two exits?) And the list goes on and on…
Lest you think these are just a few isolated incidences, let me reassure you: They are not. I’ve been called “a magnet for the unusual” and here’s further proof: As recently as yesterday, after doing a book signing in Charleston, (where, I might add Ms. Winfrey will be speaking in a couple of weeks at $125 a pop — my talk was FREE), I walked into my fave steakhouse that wasn’t there.
It’s true I was alone and Hubby Russell (a.k.a. Oscar the Grouch) is usually with me, doing the driving.

And yes, the parking lot seemed a wee bit smaller than before. I also noticed the hostess seated me in a “new area.” (I presumed a smoking section was converted to “non smoking”— my preference). And while I’d never been brought a bowl of salsa before AND the menu had changed, I still had no clue — until the server came forward and said, “How are you, ma'am?” (A typical well-mannered Southern gentleman.) That’s when I blurted out, “Oh! I’m not supposed to be HERE!” Without missing a beat, he cautiously said, “OK.
Now, then. Where are you SUPPOSED to be?” I said, “I’m supposed to be at The Longhorn.” He continued, “Oh, I see. Are you meeting someone?” “No,” I said, “I just wanted to go there.” To make a short story long, I stayed and ordered a salad and a pork tamale.
When I finished, I motioned for the server (who kept an eye on me throughout the meal). He said, “There’s no charge for your meal today.

It was a treat,” I stammered. I stuttered.
I stumbled. “But, but —” No,” he insisted, saying he hoped I enjoyed the meal and would come back soon. Y’all, I’d love to, with Oprah sitting right beside me, because she’ll want to verify these final facts before recommending my book for the All-New Oprah’s Book Club.

(Top of Page)