Glitch

"Why do the girls have to have their candles lighted by the boys," a girl named Joan is complaining loudly to Mrs Dunkirk, the town's treasurer, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and the librarian on all the other days except Sundays when it is closed. 

Right now, she is the collector of fees and distributor of candles in jars to the participants in the festival activities, and Joan has been taking up the space in front of her counter, rattling off item after item on a long list of things she finds offensive. 

"It's really discriminating and sexist."

For the record, Joan finds everything in life either discriminating, oppressive, racist or sexist and carries a soapbox along with her wherever she goes so that she can jump on it and voice her opinion and argue with anybody who will stand still long enough to engage with.

Well, she doesn't have an actual soapbox, but it might be a good idea to give her one... and a megaphone... Perhaps she will finally be happy then. I have never seen her happy. If the grooms were the ones having their candles lit by the brides, she would've wondered why the brides have to do all the work...

The fact that she is the only person always connecting race, gender and other criteria to everything in life and, therefore, probably the biggest discriminating, oppressive, racist and sexist around has not occurred to her yet.

"I did not say the boys' candles are lit, and the girls' candles are not lit so that the boys can light the girls' candles, Joan," Mrs Dunkirk explains patiently, looking at the offended girl over the rim of her glasses, shaking her ample chins as she speaks. Once those chins start to move, her patience is on its way out the door, and most people are wise enough to hide. "I said the grooms and the brides, which are merely the names of the roles in this particular play. 

"Now, you can call yourself whatever you want to and have whomever you're partnering with call themselves whatever they want" - that had been one of Joan's complaints - "and light your candle and get them to extinguish theirs or flip a coin for it or extinguish both or light both. I couldn't care less about what you do with that candle once you leave this booth so that I can assist the next participant." 

Her expression does seem to have a few suggestions on what Joan could do with her candle.

"There is a silly little thing called logistics, and for the purpose of having a smooth-running festival that starts and ends on time, everybody involved in the organization and running of the festival will be referring to participants as grooms and brides. Almost in the same way as one would refer to tables and chairs. That way, everybody knows who we mean and what they should be doing. 

"We will then be able to avoid spending 20 minutes explaining what needs to happen and will be able to get the message across in a paragraph consisting of 10 words or less, as in, Here is your candle for the ceremony. Bride or Groom? The person in question then only has to say one word, and Joseph over here will know whether to light their candle or not."

Just to be sure that Joan understands his role in the play, Joseph, the boy in charge of the town and school flags (his skills to be demonstrated later), flicks the switch of the rechargeable electric arc lighter he is using for the purpose of lighting people's fires, making a small flame dance at its end for a second.

"Instead of using bride and groom, why can't you just say lit and unlit? That will not increase the number of words you have to use at all."

Mrs Dunkirk takes off her glasses, wipes a hand over her brow and bats her eyelashes at Joan.

"We are not going to start referring to our participants as lit and unlit people! Can you imagine the flood of offence outcries I will be drowning in then? Mostly poured out by you!"

I am so glad that I am wearing a veil because I don't have to try to hide the fact that I'm laughing. Sindy is starting to turn a little blue in the face from holding her breath, and Allie has coughed and snorted a few times already. She's either coming down with a bad cold, or she is about to unravel.

"But why do the brides have to have their candles lit by-"

"Because we brides are special!" Mrs Dunkirk hisses, rising from her seat a little. That is never a good sign. "We want the grooms to put in a little work to light our fires! Now, bride or groom?"

"How about undecided?"

"Joseph! Pluck out her wick! Next!" Mrs Dunkirk sits down again, replacing her glasses with a flourish. Just like Joseph, I'm wondering whether she was talking about the candle or not...

Joan retreats from Mrs Dunkirk's explosion, wisely deciding to take her candle and go figure out whether to light it or not somewhere where she's not holding up the line and could cause those silly little logistics from becoming out of sync.

"Now," Mrs Dunkirk huffs, struggling to bring her breathing back under control when the three of us step up to the window of her booth. The angry colour is slowly seeping from her face, and she once again looks like the capable, efficient woman who takes care of the town's finances rather than the raunchy one that giggles over saucy romances when she's on duty at the library. "Bride or groom?"

"Well," I start and swallow my words with a soft yelp when Allie pinches me on my right thigh, and Sindy hisses, "Don't", on my left.

"We're brides," she says hastily and hands over our money, and we each receive an unlit candle cradled in sparkling glass jars from Joseph, who blushes and stutters and grins adorably.

I do have two rather beautiful cousins; boys often get all flustered around them.

"Thank you!" Mrs Dunkirk says. "Enjoy the festival. Next!"

"I wasn't going to say anything, you know," I complain, linking arms with Sindy when we leave the sign-up stall.

"We know you," Allie says, and she is correct; they do know me, and I did rather enjoy Mrs Dunkirk's performance and was going to see if I could induce another one.

"Yes, we do," Sindy giggles, agreeing with her sister, and I'm rather happy that I'm causing them to agree on something, even if it is only for a few seconds. Allie is already leaving us, weaving through the milling crowd. "So, Glitch, what are your plans?"

"You can join Sindy and me if you want. There's nothing that says three people cannot get married."

Sindy and I both turn to look at the young man joining us, carrying a bright flame in his hand. Through the veil, it seems to be dancing and bobbing happily, disembodied from the jar he is holding. I always thought Noah might be part-wizard; this veil is revealing his true form.

I am about to have another laugh explosion because Sindy is pulling a horrified face at her boyfriend, Noah Darling... uhm... no... Noah Salazar. I just call him Noah Darling when my cousin and I are talking about him, and she's listing all his virtues and talents.

"I meant for the festival..." he explains, pushing his free hand through his curly hair. "Ben Myers is marrying his wife and his motorcycle."

Laughing, Sindy links her free arm with his, lovingly gazing up into his face before she turns her head to look at me. "He is right, Glitch; we can do that."

Dear Sindy, always so kind and generous. I know she's looking forward to enjoying the festival with the guy she loves. We were always talking about how much fun it would be to take part in it with our actual boyfriends... if we had boyfriends. I also know that she will change her plans in a heartbeat to include me.

"Thank you," I say, sounding rather formal. "But I think I'll browse the menu for my own main course for a while before I settle for being a side dish on someone else's menu."

They blink at me for a few seconds, not sure what to make of my statement, especially since they cannot see my face clearly. 

"Oh, my soul, seriously," I laugh, giving Sindy a hug. "I'll be fine! You two have fun practising."

"What?!" they say in unison, and chuckling at their confusion, I let go of my cousin and stroll away. Do they really think that I don't know about their plans to become engaged during the festival?

I am going to go hang out with the ponies for a bit... maybe I can marry one of them...

~

I'm enjoying having my hand licked by a very affectionate black Labrador I found bounding along, his leash dragging behind him. It is one of Uncle's puppies, sold to one of the town's beloved senior citizens, Grandpa Winter. 

Charlie is still receiving daily training from Mrs Penn, the dentist (training dogs is her side passion) and is currently not the best companion dog in the world. That is why I interrupted my trip to where the ponies are kept for the children to ride on, to find Grandpa Winter and return his excited, runaway dog to him.

"There you go, Charlie, good boy!"

"Thank you, Trudy," Grandpa Winter smiles, wrapping the end of the leash tighter around his bony hand to prevent the lovable mutt from randomly taking off again. I suspect that this will not be the last time Charlie is found and returned to Grandpa Winter tonight.

I wish the old man and his dog a joyful evening and once again turn towards the temporary corral. I've only taken 11 and a half steps when I feel an arm wrap around my waist, plucking me against a hard body, and suddenly I'm about to star in an adult film... I think...

Jasper Townsend!

~~~