Slow Dancing With Our Nation’s Leader

Tex went away for a week and a half. I’m not what most people would describe as “normal” at the best of times, but my husband’s presence does have a tempering effect on my weird.

Which meant that eight days into his absence, this happened.Talking with Justi

In case you’re wondering, that’s a random ad for the Liberals playing on the iPad. I put it on mute and then pretend that the Prime Minister of Canada is giving me compliments and asking me out.

My strange is kind of like a freight train, it takes a while to get going but once it’s out of the station it takes a while to slow down.


Which meant that four days after Tex returned, this happened.

Dancing with Justi 1

For the record, Tex does wear a cowboy hat along with boots and spurs at all times. I merely request that he remove them in bed.

Dancing with Justi 2

Our couch changes colour sometimes. This happens with children- mostly it goes from normal to puke coloured.

Dancing with Justi 3

I look forward to the return of my regularly scheduled programming. This whole situation is becoming a little odd even for me.

Unfortunate Note Taking and Political Outbursts

Moving is amazing. The only thing better than packing up all your belongings and schlepping them to a completely different place is the process of rebuilding your social circle from scratch. We officially moved into our new community over a month ago and life is going swimmingly. The only problem is, well, I can’t recognize people. Children are easy to discern- they’re always running around shouting their names and declaring that so and so hit them, so remembering their names and differentiating little people is a snap. Adults? Not so much.

It’s to the point where if a man of similar size and build approached me on the street and was like “Hey sweetie, ready to go swimming with dolphins?” I’d be all “Dad! You always forget that I’m terrified of dolphins.” And “Is that moustache new?”

Our small community was rocked by a scandal recently. Our local provincial representative found himself at the epicenter of a sexual harassment lawsuit.

Gross. Super gross. But I was delighted because it’s a small community, meaning that I would see this knave, and could therefore take him to task.

I love telling off politicians. It’s my second favourite activity after eating hamburgers while watching people on ellipticals. I enjoy telling politicians off even when they haven’t done anything wrong. All that I require is that their political views that differ from mine. By the way my political views are that everyone should share everything always and belt out the 90’s heartthrob band Hanson once a day. Super reasonable and mainstream.

But in order for me to recognize the politician in question, the creep would have to be standing next to one of his election signs, sticking out his hand saying “I’m so and so, elected official for the area and confirmed dirty old man.”

Even then, I’d probably take in that scene and scratch my chin saying “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

For serious most men look similar. They compound this problem by constantly dressing the same- shirt and pants or a suit for fancy occasions. My heart goes out to all those baby mamas on Jerry Springer who had their husband’s brother’s baby. When the women on daytime TV screech “Puddin’ I had no idea it was your brother- I thought it was you! I’m sorry five of our eight babies are his.” I nod in solemn solidarity because there but for the grace of God go I. For the longest time, I tried to date only men with sisters to avoid this problem.

So though I was all fired up and ready to rip the local MP a new one, even I recognized that calling out this man on his actions was a poor choice. I could even see it in my head. Last Tuesday evening, there was a massive town event. Everyone was in attendance. I pictured myself spotting the miscreant from across the curling rink.

“Oy! Pervert! You think you can harass women in private? Well I’m here to bring you your come uppance in public! Times up jerk!”

And there’d be an uncomfortable murmur through the crowd and some nice woman with a blonde bob who would later claim that we have multiple times would whisper in my ear.

And then I’d sheepishly say “Pastor Kent, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you without your robe on, obviously I need to review to your last sermon about finding tranquility through God.”

So in spite of my great desire give our local politician what for, I’m going to focus my energy on learning the names of everyone in the community. Currently I have a list going by our front door. I add to it whenever I meet someone new. It looks something like this:

Sharon- grocery store, highlights, likes macrame

Max –church, tallish, weird gait, hockey buff

Cherise – church, chubby, toe ring, bakes

Fern – bowling alley, three children; one is a disappointment

Alex – park, black dog, unibrow

I’m not sure what I’ll do when Cherise takes off her toe ring or Max finally gets the orthopedic shoes he needs but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. In the meantime, I’m blending in and trying not to introduce myself to the same person for the eighth time that week at the park and inquiring gently about Fern’s middle child. Also I should have made a note as to whether it was Alex who had a unibrow or his dog.

I’m Like A Political Bisexual- It’s Not About The Party, It’s About The Person. Does That Make Me Bipartisan?

In Canada, we have attack ads. Essentially one party goes on television and is all “Did you hear about So And So in the other party? They eat puppies, barbeque kittens and are probably paying a pimply teenager to fricasee your hamster for dinner as you watch this. How do you feel about your tax dollars being spent that way?”

The other day I went to my mailbox expecting a package, but found an attack ad pamphlet from a Mr. Randy Hoback. Seeing as this is a wildly inappropriate way to both communicate with people and to talk about your opponents, I decided to reply back to the politician in kind.

Dear Mr. Hoback,

I decided to overcome the voter apathy of my generation to write and inform you that I received your pamphlet. Tragically I did not read it. There were a number of reasons. Firstly, the only correspondence I keep from politicians are those from men who I deem to be “bang-a-langin hotties”; you sir with your closed mouth smiles,


I swear it’s like the photographers consistently forget to remind this man to “say cheese”. (Photo Credit

unfortunately are not my type. By contrast, I still have the delightful Christmas card that our toothy, grinning Prime Minister sent to my grandparents almost a decade ago. I could lap that man up like ice cream.


I keep this card next to my collection of pin ups of Jonathon Taylor Thomas.(Photo Credit:

Secondly, I vote and back politicians based on the tightness of their six packs. Mr. Hoback, if you are truly interested in my support, my mailbox is always open to your shirtless, pinup style photograph application. Conversely, you could take to appearing topless on Facebook and in the news à la Justin Trudeau style. That too would capture my attention and potentially my support.

Sincerely yours,

A registered and frequent voter

(Now isn’t that something to cry over)

For the record, sometimes I write things to tick people off. It’s one of the joys of being a writer, it balances out the tragically underpaid aspect of our lives. The “lap that man up like ice cream” was one of those lines. I pictured Randy getting all blustery about receiving a letter like that. I felt it was his comeuppance for filling our neighbourhood’s mailboxes with a giant newsletter which conveyed absolutely no information but did manage to trash the other political parties.

Not that anyone is interested and even I don’t care, but I’m not a Liberal, I do however think Trudeau is exceptionally good looking and everyone needs a reason to be excited to open the paper in the morning. Also, Tex said the above letter was too mean to send, so I tried writing another one.

To the unfortunate and underpaid lackey of Mr. Hoback reading this message on his behalf,

Firstly, my apologies that Baskin Robbins wasn’t hiring. Secondly, please tell your boss that I take umbrage both with his spamming of mailboxes with useless information and his flagrant abuse of our resources. That paper could have been better used printing ice cream menus.

P.S. Thanks for saving me the postage on this letter.

I was all set to tuck this piece of prose into the pre stamped slip Mr. Hoback had sent when my husband asked what I was doing. Then Tex made an even more disgusted face at this next draft because now I was insulting the poor underpaid youth in Mr. Hoback’s employ, along with the tree felling, mailbox abusing politician. So I wrote another one which was serious and therefore didn’t warrant being put up here. But it was basically the written equivalent of “get off my lawn” and sent it instead. It grinds my gears when I open my mailbox to correspondence which are not cards telling me how wonderful I am.