I MISSED Mary. The win. Imagine that?
Mary was running like the wind and I missed it. Why? Because an inconsiderate ignoramus decided to park his car and box mine in; and I was therefore prevented from getting to view my box at home. (And yes, Lew-behind-Dick, I said ‘his’ before I knew for a fact that it was a male parker.)
I noted his licence plate with my Parker pen. It was then that he came out, curious to know what I was writing on paper, while eyeing his car. He held a cutlass in his hand.
I noted his licence plate with my Parker pen. It was then that he came out, curious to know what I was writing on paper, while eyeing his car. He held a cutlass in his hand.
Ten minutes after Mary Fraser’s final run at the CARIFTA Games, there he was, sheepishly smiling, knowing I was blocked. A big button-hole of a mouth, he pulled at his bushy beard, looking confused. Did his car miraculously move itself at the front of mine, whilst deliberately missing all the other empty spaces in the wide area?
It will always be my firm belief that the pen is mightier than the sword. So, brandishing my Parker
at the parker, I exclaimed, “I could have had an emergency. This is so inconsiderate.”
at the parker, I exclaimed, “I could have had an emergency. This is so inconsiderate.”
Pointing his cutlass towards a cow, he claimed, “I coulda had a emergency too.” I decided that there was really no need to prove the pen versus sword adage at that moment in time. Wrong and strong. That is one of the chief cornerstones of our society. Right is no longer might, right? I know you know. All you have to do is try to speak up when someone breaks the queue (except at Q, where everyone seems always jovial and easy-going) or voice your concern which may oppose another’s view.
That’s my rant for today…so now it’s time to rave.
The innocence of children. I rave about my nephews all the time. That is, until one decided to not curse like a pirate. You see, if he were cursing like a pirate, I won’t really mind. It’s no huge concern if a child walks up to you, shouting, “Shiver me timbers!” or, “Get thee hence, you scurvy lubber!” But lawdhavestmercy, I don’t care how wild he is; even the ears of Wild Coot would turn colour if he were to hear this boy prattle profanities.
And reader, it is so random. Imagine a three-year-old smiling with you one minute and then blistering
you with blasphemy, the next!?!
What would you do? Car falls into pothole, child puckers and lets it out. We’re at the bank. (You know how quiet banks are.) Child smiles peacefully while looking at cricket on screen. Some fella is out for duck. Child reiterates the zero score, but with loud, adjectival rhyming.
Toddlers dropping four-letter words that aren’t ‘milk’ or ‘Dora’ is a real problem for me. If you can help, please let me know how to deal with this little F-bombster before I return him to his parents at the end of the month. But apologies to you, reader: my rave actually ended up being another rant.
Veoma Ali is an author, broadcaster, advertising exec and most important, a karaoke lover.
