WordPress Daily Prompt: P.C.

Is political correctness a useful concept, or does it stifle honest discussion?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us USEFUL.

Political correctness does not really exist in my language as such (and I speak a few languages). What does exist for me is tolerance and in all languages. If I want to celebrate Christmas I do (although to be quite honest, being a non-believer I only do it for the rest). If someone prefers to celebrate a festival of lights, then it is their choice. I absolutely do not have a problem. I abhor discrimination, it is just not so important. Important is that we can all talk to each other, understand problems we all have and not differentiate between skin colours, religions, even what you eat. I like to discuss with my friends from other countries, to know what it means to live by another creed or way of life. It can only be beneficial and help towards understanding.

“Mrs. Human, Mrs. Human, just a minute: all this big talk about being equal and understanding. What about me?, I me and myself. Where was the friendly understanding when you packed me off to the vets?”

Oh dear, my chief feline Nera is waving her paw and has a few meows to contribute



“Nera I did not pack you off to the vets, as you say. It was a necessity. You were tearing your own fur out, walking around with hairs hanging from your teeth. This has nothing to do with political correctness, it was a necessity. The remaining fur you had was matted together similar to a moth eaten Persian carpet and what was living in your coat, who knows?”

“But no-one asked me if I wanted to have a haircut. It was not a haircut. It was a vicious attack, an act of revenge from a anti feline vet that had nothing better to do. Tabby, stop rolling on the floor with laughter, it is not funny. I have been insulted.”

Nera’s litter sister was looking at Nera with her new fur style and laughing.

“Nera, you must admit the vet really went to town with the shears this time. She must have been practicing on a heard of sheep before she started on you.”

“Tabby, now you are adding insult to injury. Mrs. Human, do you know what the vet said before she started on this fur massacre. Before I fell asleep, under anaesthetic of course, she said to the assistant “We will have to clean her teeth. Her breath smells and she has tartar on her teeth”.

“But Nera, be glad she discovered it otherwise your teeth might have fallen out.”

“Mrs. Human I definitely heard what the vet said to you on the telephone.”

“ Nera has traces of tartar on her teeth, brown stains, and it could lead to tooth decay. It is to be expected from an older cat, she is now 11 years old and it is better to remove the tartar. We can now do it quite easily, as she will be put to sleep.”

“Nera, it is for your own good and look now, you have such wonderful clean teeth and a new look.”

“All in the name of improvement you think. I liked my wonderful, super luxury fur. All the other felines in the neighbourhood were jealous of my handsome looks. All self-respecting felines have feline breath odour, it belongs to us. Who wants to smell like a peppermint stick, when you can smell like a tin of fresh tuna fish and I am not old. I am at an interesting age, in my prime. My pride has been hurt. Now look at me: I resemble a stand-in for Puss in Boots in a Walt Disney film. I think the vet must be practicing for haircut of the year, the new look for felines. Not with me, I am annoyed. This is not political correctness. I will definitely get a post-traumatic stress disorder from this treatment.”

“Rubbish Nera: in a few weeks your fur will start to grow again. It will be much better, silkier and no longer serve as a transport for ants, snails, bugs, and all sorts of seeds from the garden. Your fur was becoming a magnetized Velcro, a feline hook and loop fastener, being stuck together with all sorts of strange objects. The vet did not even dare to examine the fur he removed, he burnt it straight away in an incinerator.”

“And now I suppose you will be showing my new look to all those people out there in your blog; big deal.”

“Nera, look at it like this. There will be so many felines jealous of your new look, they will be scratching the vet’s clinic door to have the same. I saw that Garfield’s new girlfriend is a Sphynx feline, so you are still in the narrow selection.”

“Oh, I see, he is now going for the naked look. You mean he might see my photo and recognise my true beauty.”

Now I had a happy Nera, satisfied with her new style and everything is again politically correct. Huh? I mean she is a feline and not a personality or?







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Creative Challenge 218 - Hot

"Mrs. Human, just show me where the zip is"

"What zip Nera cat?"

"When you humans are hot you always take something off. Sometimes you just show skin with a few pieces of fur, called bikini or swimsuit. We cats also get hot, and I want to take my fur coat off. There must be a zip or some buttons somewhere."

"No, sorry Nera, it's not like that when you are a cat. You are born with the fur and you keep it for always. If you are really too hot, Mr. Human can take you to the vet. The vet will put you to sleep and give you a short back and sides. Then you won't feel so hot any more."

"No, Mrs. Human, unless Mr. Human has a death wish, I will not go with him to the vet and have my hair cut off. Vets stink, have no manners and no self respecting cat goes voluntarily to a vet. That is only when we are in dire straits, which is seldom according to Bast's law."

"She is right" said Nera's litter sister Tabby. "Visits to vets are certainly not for a hair cut, unless of course you happen to have an overgrowth of fur, known as fluff, which my sister Nera has."

"Hisssss, Tabby I do not have an overgrowth of fur. It is my normal shiny silky coat. You are just jealous as a short haired common Tabby cat with a MacDonalds "M" on your forehead."

"Nera, at the moment I am glad to be a common tabby cat with short fur. I don't have to lay on my back to cool down, or start searching for a zip."

"What's the problem Nera" said Fluffy cat. "I have long fur as well, although I am a special Selkirk Rex cat, known for our long silky curly fur. I don't have problems in the hot weather. My fur is very special you know, sort of thermally controlled. If it is hot, it cools you down, and in Winter it warms you."

"Fluffy you do not have to show off. You look like you put your paw in an electric socket, Curls? my paw. Just a freak of nature." and Nera emphasised the remark with a tail swish.

"Ok cats, cool down" said Mrs. Human. "This conversation is leading nowhere. although I must say Nera you are exaggerating just a little bit. Just stay where you are cooling down on your back. Mr. Human is now on his way with a pair of scissors to snip some fur away. Then you will feel much better."

"Forget it Mrs. Human, no way."

"Or we can organise a visit to the vets."

"Ok, ok, I give up, but make sure Mr. Human is careful. I want to look my usual beautiful self afterwards and not as if I got caught in a lawn mower."

Yes, we all seem to have our problems in the hot weather.

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The haircut

The interior of my hairdressers - looks more like a waiting room at the doctors

The time had come and there was no return. After patiently growing my hair over the last five years to a respectable length I decided to put a stop to the growth. The bathroom floor was also grateful for this decision. Washing my hair during the week was becoming a task that I was no longer fun. It took about 15 minutes of my time up in the morning before going to work and collecting the hairy details afterwards was no longer my idea of an enjoyable pastime before going to work, so I decided enough was enough.

The whole operation had to be carefully planned. On Monday I called the hairdresser for an appointment. I explained I was a working woman and had no time during the week for the operation. I was offered an appointment at 08.00 on Saturday morning but asked if there was something free during the day. I had visions of crawling out of bed on Saturday morning only a bit later than during the week and falling asleep whilst my hair was being cut. Eventually we managed to arrange a sensible time of 02.15 in the afternoon.

Eventually Saturday arrived and after my usual cleaning up session at home and visit to the local shops with my other half I returned home for cooking lunch. During the week my son had called to arrange a lunchtime appointment at Hotel Mama so I had an extra guest to dinner. I see my son about once a month, sometimes more, but nevertheless I told him it would be a short sighting of myself as I was going to the hairdressers. I was expecting words of astonishment or even critic, but nothing like this. I then noticed my son didn’t mind if I was walking around with a hairstyle like Bridget Bardot in her younger days, or even a punk style – he was getting a home cooked dinner. My husband was at home all afternoon so I just left them to their man talk (about sport, cars, and even books, and the latest news etc. etc.).

I decided to make the way into town as a pedestrian – the doctor once told me I should get more exercise (I think that was after I was under treatment for “blogger’s arm”). On the way to town I naturally took a few photos and arrived for my appointment five minutes too early. As my hairdresser was busy cutting the hair of a man (the things you see in a lady’s hairdressers these days) I had to wait until she was finished. In the meanwhile I was offered a magazine to read, but quite honestly I was more interested in what was going on around me. I noticed that nobody was really interested in having their hair cut short, more styling and colouring was going on, with a bit of wax here and gel there to finish the process. How lucky I was, I had my own built in highlights.

My hairdresser washed my hair thoroughly, although I wondered why as most of it was being cut off in any case. We then had a scientific discussion about what I wanted. I told her short and not to worry or get a guilty conscience about cutting off my long grey locks (with their split ends) – just go ahead. The hairdresser gave me a sort of a strange look (probably thinking a crazy grandmother) took the scissors in her hand and started cutting. When she was about half way through I noticed she had left the hair on top on the long side. I then told her to take her courage in her hands and cut, cut and cut. She said something about perhaps leaving it a bit longer on top. I told her to forget it (in a polite way) and her eyes suddenly lit up as she realised the purpose of her hairdressing life was sitting in front of her. She then went ahead and finished the job. To cut a long story short (she trimmed the cut for about 30 minutes) she did what I wanted and I was satisfied.

She then spent five minutes brushing the cuttings off the protective overall I had been given to wear during the operation. The next step was sweeping the hair away which was a lot. They have flaps built into the wall and the hair is swept under the flaps. I should think a few kilo of hair come together during the day. I eventually left the hairdresser, eighty Swiss Francs lighter, but it was worth it. Unfortunately I met no fans of mine on the way home to be astonished by my new look, although my husband found it made me look younger.

I went to work this morning and had to laugh. As I walked passed a window of one of the departments almost completely populated by men, they were all having a business talk on the day’s planning in the middle of the department. One saw me and turned round to look, then the other five followed and made a polite “good morning” greeting to me. Now I am sure that would not have happened if I still had my longer hair – or???

Actually I was not always grey, and even had very long hair when I was sweet 16