Winona wraps up her talk for the women’s business group by trying to undo the misunderstanding about Wazzer.  “Just a little note – there was a mix up with some business cards – please note that Waz – I mean, Wha – um – Wai – ah – Miss Thompson is the Business Manager, not the owner, at…”

Not everybody is tuned into this jumbled statement. Wazzer, for one, is having her hand pumped enthusiastically. “So nice to meet another Maori restaurant owner! Are you doing any specials for Matariki?”

“Not…exactly…”

By the time she extracts herself and returns to the drinks table, Winona pounces on her. “Why didn’t you tell us you were Maori?”

“It’s not that big a deal, all right? I’m just an eighth. Dad named me after his mum. Have you seen my sister? She’s blonde! They named her Sharon after mum’s mum.”

“But…culture…scholarships…”

Wazzer shrugs. “Dad didn’t know enough Maori to speak it – Grandmum’s generation got beaten at school for speaking te reo.”

Winona’s eyes widen. “That’s so tragic! Are you doing anything for Matariki?” Before Wazzer can groan in frustration, Winona adds, “Because we were going to have a party! And now that you’re not working nights we’d love to see you.”

After a moment’s silence, Wazzer relents. “Sure, I’ll come. But just so you know, it’s Miz Thompson.”

Tags:   politics · social mores · wazzer · winona1 Comment