Mockery? Ridicule? Or Just A Dare?

She was laughing:

‘Why don’t you take a picture of this?’

In her hand, she was holding a Heinz Ketchup bottle, and she waved it towards me in that Ooo-scarey-boo kind of fashion.

The She in question was, and is, one of the co-owners of the small restaurant in which I work. She shall rename nameless; no need to cause embarrassment.

She was still laughing, and I was being mildly mocked.

What she – Hell; mockery needs to be exposed for all it’s horribly, meany nastiness, particularly when I am not the instigator – What Denise was implying was that within the two weeks that I had owned my digital camera, people had grown to see me as someone who would take a photograph of literally anything. And I suppose I do. Within limits.

And why not? If I see things differently than others, if through my eyes and imagination I can highlight something somewhere that someone else has not been able to see, is that cause for ridicule?

I may not bleed if you prick me, but I’ll certainly scream. And probably like a little girl.

So that’s the story behind the image. Now let’s take a look at it and unveil the drama within the image.




Okay – It ain’t rocket science. It’s compelling-tragic-drama science. And it’s obvious, at least to me.

The tomato. Behind him, like Hooded Death about to pull him back into the abyss with a boney, skeletal hand, behind the tomato looms his threatening, doomy future. And just over his left shoulder – Bare with me; sometimes even vegetables have to have body parts. I believe it’s called artistic licence. Or is that poetic licence? Anyways; Even You have to admit that you that you’ve seen vegetables that have looked like body parts. I digress. – And just over his left shoulder; there, there, there they stand. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Like two despicable Harpies (meaning, I suppose, that there are some Harpies that are quite nice; entertaining, engaging, witty and urbane, always thinking of others – the type of Harpy that takes you out to coffee, buys you a drink on your birthday, sends you and Christmas card…) or Spy Vs. Spy, they know what’s going to happen and there’s no need for them to lift a muscle. All they have to do is wait and then move in.

I get the impression that this narrative is not going to conclude with a happy ending.

There Denise; put That on your sweet-potato fries and smoke it!