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A hearty feast of free readings, lectures, presentations, workshops and showcases celebrating our culture, community and the wild blue yonder.
 Where inquiring minds gather.
Okanagan Institute
at Hanna's Lounge
Click here for schedule
and information. |
Arts Council of the Central Okanagan is a resource centre and advocate for the arts in Kelowna and Central Okanagan. Find us at:
8-1304 Ellis Street
Kelowna BC V1Y 1Z8
Phone: 250.861.4123
Fax: 250.861.4155
Email: Click here
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Join the Arts Council of the Central Okanagan today and you will:
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Literary Arts
Don't Tweak My Wattle! Barbara J. Shave
We old friends zeroed in on each other at the party. Before I could shake her hand, however, it rose to just under my chin. To my horror, she pinched my wattle there and gave it a playful jiggle while she greeted me with "Howya doin', kiddo?" (Where are those Great White sharks when I want to feed them?) Gads, I had hoped no one would notice my wattle! (I have only one so far). Wattles develop when a chin melts and flows like candle wax to the chest. Flow builds upon lumpy flow until a former swan neck turns turkey.
To my way of thinking, a wattle tweak is right up there on the rudeness scale with a kiss planted on a man's bald spot. "You're just so cute," some folks explain. I won't speak for the bald guy, but I don't want to be cute. I want to be esteemed.
It seems to me that the older I become, the more often I feel trivialized, like I am slowly sinking to the bottom of the social pecking order. Disrespect as in "Where'd ya'll git dem ugly shoes?" can make you the victim of a drive-by shooting in some rough neighbourhoods where it is called "Being Dissed," (short for disrespected). While I don't endorse a drive-by for a wattle tweak (or a shoe insult), I was definitely Dissed.
Sometimes the Diss is subtly disguised as affection. The tight-skinned instructor of my exercise class at the senior centre doesn't bother to learn our names. We're all "Sweetie" to her. (Sweetie is a version of cute).
But such false affection is better than being ignored. I matter so little these days that I am nearly invisible. Business messages aren't returned. Complaints are dismissed with "So-o-o, whad'ya expect me to do about it?" I couldn't even buy a Mustang. Salesmen in one dealership paraded past me for over an hour, while I stood waiting. When I interrupted their pacing, I was deferred with "I'll be with you in a minute, Dear." (Dear is another spin on cute).
My shifting and sighing finally caught the attention of the receptionist who asked, "Are you waiting for your husband, Dear?" In a feminist huff then, I marched myself over to the competitor where an obliging salesman ushered me into his office and listed my preferences on his notepad. He said he would check availability and get back to me. That was three years ago. I bought and sold a Miata in the interim!
Yet ignored is lots better than assaulted. Pulling into oncoming traffic across a double yellow line, a motorist who felt that I had failed to exceed the speed limit to suit his tail-gating needs, drew along side. "You (expletive) old (expletive)," he shrieked as he threw a rock my way. (Why did he have a rock in his front seat?) Although it dented my driver door instead of my head, I figured myself to be a drive-by victim. When I reported his license number to 9-1-1, the dispatcher said, "So-o-o, whad'ya expect me to do about it?"
I used to laugh when comedian, Rodney Dangerfield lamented, "I can't get no respect." Now I can relate!
We invite submissions from writers.
» The story or poem should not be over 2000 words and must be your own original work. All submissions must be word processed and emailed to us at our email address.
» Submissions must include your complete contact information: Name, Telephone, Email, Mailing Address.
» Please also include a short biography and if possible a small photo of yourself.
» The anonymity of all that submit a story or poem will be respected. Contact details supplied as part of your submission will not be disclosed to any third party.
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