2130. A litany of achievement

Beryl was excited. She had won a scholarship to a prestigious university.
“All my hard work paid off,” said Beryl. “This is unbelievably exciting! Thank you!”
“Oh no,” said the university. “You got the scholarship because you are Black.”

Earle was excited. He had won a scholarship to a prestigious university.
“All my hard work paid off,” said Earl. “This is unbelievably exciting! Thank you!”
“Oh no,” said the university. “You got the scholarship because you are in a wheelchair.”

Fay was excited. Fay had won a scholarship to a prestigious university.
“All my hard work paid off,” said Fay. “This is unbelievably exciting! Thank you!”
“Oh no,” said the university. “You got the scholarship because you are transgender.”

Craig was excited. He had won a scholarship to a prestigious university.
“All my hard work paid off,” said Craig. “This is unbelievably exciting! Thank you!”
“Oh no,” said the university. “You got the scholarship because you are White. We had to show we weren’t biased.”

(Footnote: Unlike the scholarship recipients in the story above I have had the thrill of having won first place in Chel Owens’ A Mused Poetry Contest. It’s well worth a look at this contest if you don’t already follow it. And it’s fun, free, and easy to enter! You should think about giving it a go!)

2090. Pianoforte lessons, darling

Mazie’s daughter was Mayzing. Mazie was outraged. Her friend, Tammy, was also a parent at Mayzing’s school. The Hir-Oh-No Academy of Arts was not only expensive; it was the cat’s pyjamas. Tammy’s daughter, Shammy, was studying pianoforte at the Academy.

“It’s a wonderful skill to have, darling” said Tammy to Mazie. Thus it was that Mazie enrolled Mayzing in pianoforte. But what a shock!

“You have no idea,” declared Mazie. “More than half the pianoforte keys were white. There are only five black notes to every seven white notes. But what does one expect when all the composers, like Mozart and Beethoven and Burt Bacharach, had bigotry bred into them? I told Mayzing’s teacher that I wanted her to learn only the black notes. There must be pieces written for just the black notes.”

These days, Mayzing is confused. The only true Black notes are Blues ones.

2083. Pink headphones

Hamish’s headphones had been broken for some time. They came with a mic and both the headphones and microphone had been in constant use with gaming. That is why things were worn out. They were three years old.

They had been perfect. They were clear as a bell. They were comfortable. And they were pink. When he walked down the street with his headphones on everyone stared. Pink was a girl’s colour. What was a guy doing sauntering along with girl’s headphones?

These headphones had brought Hamish luck. Whenever he entered some competition or other down at the mall, the compere almost always announced: “First prize goes to the guy with the pink headphones”. Hamish reckoned his headphones had won more things than he had won himself. He was about the only one there with standout singular identification.

So when his headphones died he was keen to get another pink pair. His friend, Nathan, had offered him his spare set. But they were black. What use are black headphones?

And then he saw her! Angelina! She was down at the mall. She was wearing pink headphones exactly like Hamish wanted. Hamish introduced himself. They got talking.

Hamish dashed back and got Nathan’s black headphones. He swapped the black headphones for Angelina’s pink ones. They were both very happy.

Sometimes I stray from writing fiction.

1628. Tatty blues

Gazing out the window at his clothes on the line Bruce realised just how tatty his clothes had become. Not only that, but everything was blue. What was needed was a visit to town and some new clothes. Fliers advertising the coming season’s garments had just come in the mail. This was the answer to a prayer:

New range of colours in our Spring Collection! Join in the innovative springtide riot! Throw all caution to the wind with our symphony of hues!

Feeling a desire to “branch out” this was an invitation to recklessness. Bruce got in his old truck and headed for town.

There they were! Row upon row of the new season’s clothes! All black or a lovely shade of grey. The swimming gear was black with white dots. There was one white shirt in different sizes, and (ah! one colour amidst the dismal rows) three pullovers in dark, dark green.

The next time Bruce hung his washing on the line it was identical to the previous load of laundry: all blue and quite, quite tatty.

1524: Funeral arrangements

The cold, hard reality was that Amelia had nothing to wear. Now was hardly the appropriate time to go shopping for clothes. It was her own fault. She had been given a good six months to think ahead, during her husband’s final illness, and now that George had passed on she still had nothing fitting to wear to his funeral.

It’s not exactly true that she had been remiss in looking ahead. She had purchased a beautiful outfit. Black. The matching hat had black lace to hide her reddened mourning eyes. The dress looked fabulous once the jade and diamond brooch had been brought out of its bank vault to see the light of day; a green and dazzling piece of jewellery that was unspeakably beautiful against the black fabric.

Unfortunately Amelia had worn that ensemble to Fiona’s husband’s funeral three weeks earlier. Amelia wouldn’t be seen dead in the same outfit twice. It was most inconsiderate of Fiona’s husband to drop off just a few weeks prior to her George.

There was only one thing for it; in the closet, Amelia had a stunning floral frock. It verged on the outrageous; it was brash, garish, loud. She had bought it to upstage everyone at her daughter’s wedding but the wedding had most fortunately been cancelled. A despicable man; and not at all good-looking.

Yes! The floral dress was the answer. Amelia hastily penned a note for the newspaper’s funeral announcement: For his funeral George requested that we wear something bright.

1404. Sausages

It was nine year old Natalie’s turn to give a talk in class. She thought it would be fun to talk about sausages!

“There are all sorts of different sausages,” began Natalie. “First of all there are many different types of German sausage.”

“Excuse me,” said Heinrich in the class, “but I’m German and I don’t like being called a sausage. That’s racist.”

The teacher gently explained to Heinrich that the term “German” was in reference to food. There was nothing racist about it.

“Then,” continued Natalie, “there’s Polish sausage.”

“Excuse me,” said Karol in the class, “but I’m Polish and I don’t like being called a sausage. That’s racist.”

The teacher gently explained to Karol that the term “Polish” was in reference to food. There was nothing racist about it.

“Finally,” said Natalie, “there’s a sausage called black pudding made out of pig’s blood and fat.”

“You naughty, naughty racist child,” exclaimed the teacher. “I suppose you get that attitude from your parents. You will take time out. We are not going to have that attitude in my classroom.”

1314. The black of grief

Once Bernadette had decided to murder her husband she planned it meticulously. In fact, it was rather fun. Detailed planning was Bernadette’s forte. Her husband, Wilfred, was on medication. An overdose would do the trick. The most difficult part was the grief following his inexplicable suicide. Fortunately, Bernadette was a born actress. She had brought only a small lace handkerchief to the funeral and had to borrow Malcolm’s large cotton hankie. Those in the back pew of the church could hear the sobs coming from the front pew. Such a sad funeral.

Bernadette wore black for two months, that is, until she married Malcolm. They had a wonderful seven years together. I see Bernadette’s wearing black again.