Before I begin, I need to say a sweet Remembrance to my great uncle, Bert and my great-grandfather, Joc. I never had the fortune of meeting either of them. Bert was shot down over Germany in WWII and Joc died well after serving in the Boer War with the *AHEM* Lord Strathcona's Horse Regiment (brownie points for me from Granny D for that one!). Thank you for allowing us the freedom. It was your bravery and courage that has allowed us to live in the country of Canada and be free to have experiences like the one I am going to tell you about today.
We drove downtown Burlington this morning at around 11 am. As we drove along everyone had their own purpose in mind. I still haven't figured out what mine was. But I am sure I had one. *Mila* was daydreaming about a small white milk from Tim Hortons. I sure it's the cream they put in the milk to beef it up to a full 2% that she craves fort-nightly. As for me, I was thinking about the usual "
double double".
Contrary to the beliefs of some dumb Americans, no Timmy does not put nicotine in the coffee! It's the 35% cream, you idiots. Nice try though. And nice try trying to force Dunkin' Donuts on us. We don't eat 'donuts' in Canada, despite the fact that there is a Tim Hortons on every corner and they all stock 'donuts'. While we're at it, it is doughnuts, not 'donuts'. In Canada, we prefer to add more letters to challenge Americans. It's true.
So, where was I? Oh yeah. *Steve* was fantasizing about a 50+ inch TV for the basement. When isn't he fantasizing about that? All day long he dreams about large TVs! Usually I have the remote, so why does he care? As *Mila* would say, "Why? Why? Why?" So, there we were driving past the Burlington Mall, observing a moment of silence for all the poor souls who sacrificed their lives to give us the freedom to choose what we want to put in our coffee, or the size of TV we want to have in our house. Suddenly a large semi-trailer passes by our window with a load full of pigs. They were making eye contact with me and I burst into tears. 'Sobbing over pigs?' you say. Yes! I'm hoping that you put down your Bacon sandwich right now and think about those poor pigs. Shoved into a corner with their bare, fat rears poking through the sharp metal holes of the truck's trailer. What are they thinking?
Edna: "I hope we're going somewhere fun, Homer."
Homer: "Yeah, like another farm!"
Pete: "Maybe, Edna, just maybe this is the end?!"
Edna & Homer simultaneously: "Nah, I don't think so!"
Pete: "Farmer Miller WOULD SO sell us down the river, Homer!"
Homer: "It just can't end like this Pete"
Now, do you want to eat something like that? Those pigs have feelings and are carrying on conversations in the truck before they get there to be slaughtered. It's not as if they are waiting a nice meal and a cigarette afterwards. I'm sure I don't want to know and if I do PETA will have a few videos I can watch when I'm not so tender.
There I am crying about pigs and soldiers and there we are in front of the TV store of the month. *Mila* is in the back seat complaining about "Where's my milk? I thought we were going to Tim Hortons? This is not Tim Hortons DAD!" Picture this: she's wearing a touque perched on top of her head resting well above her ears and a parka. It was +12 degrees Celsius! She has on a nightie substituting in for a shirt and a pair of jeans under them in typical Pik style! She is freaking out because this was supposed to be a run for milk, not 50" TVs. We back track to the nearest Timmy's (which wasn't far, it never is) and I run in to get the milk and 2 large double doubles. The guy (this is where my confusion begins. ?questionable guy?) serving me takes my order and proceeds to stand there and look at me in a dull way, not a cold way, just dull.
This is very odd, he pulls out a small Pepsi bottle from his pocket or something and says:
"Have you ever seen anything like this before?"
"No", I answer. What is he talking about? This small Pepsi bottle? Where is my damn coffees? The boy beside him is stirring and stirring. Are they adding nicotine to my coffee? Is this why I keep dreaming about buying cigarettes and smoking them behind the fence?
"It's very unusual, don't you think?" he asks me. "Yes it is", I say quickly. Thinking to myself, give me the damn coffee and YOU are the unusual thing. YOU, I say! YOU!
"My cousin gave it to me. It's lip balm. Don't you think it's unusual?", he asks me, as if we are girlfriends exchanging makeup techniques.
"Yes and so is your eyeliner! It's unusual for a boy your age too. And just because I have mascara rolling down my damn cheeks because I saw pigs piled on top of one another to go get their throats cut, and then I have to be reminded on Remembrance Day that men and women sacrificed their lives in the wars so we could have freedom and you are worried about your damn lip balm!?!?!? I really don't care about your lip balm being shaped like a Pepsi bottle!" At least that is what I imagined myself responding instead of what I really said, which was "Thank you and have a nice day", since I try to teach the young staff at Tim-bo's new manners like the words "Please" and this new one I heard the other day called "Thank you".
We leave and now we are off to the TV store again. We go into what reminded me of some small town store. Whatever. The TV that *Steve* wants is advertised on their website for like $700 off or something. So, I just go for the ride. The usual chit-chat occurs and *Mila* bounces on and off *Steve's* shoulders since she's bored. And why shouldn't she be? It's an electronics store and she's 3! I daydream about the skinny shiny black TV and *Steve* finds himself in a dark black room with 61 massive inches of liquid crystal display. Is it a guy thing? They need to hide in dark rooms with large stereos and big TVs. Is it so we can't see the beer they spill on the chesterfield (how Canadian is that for you?) or the 10 year's supply of petrified snack foods under the above stated chesterfield? I bet that's it. Then they crank the TV through the stereo so loud, that no wife with 'hyper-sensitive hearing disorder' (or HSHD as I like to call it) will be able to tolerate it, thereby, sound-proofing the basement and sealing it tighter than Old Fort William. It turns out that this is the third time he's tried to find and purchase the TV and each time we go for the "most excellent deal of all time", there is no TV. It's like the Polkaroo. He only appears when the
guy on the
Polkadot Door goes to the washroom. I get it now, so, it's the same with the TV. They tell you have the TV, but it goes to the washroom when the store opens the doors and the
guys come in? So, this TV would only be visible to women and children then? I get it now, I really, really do! Of course, no sane wife would allow this monstrosity into her house. As a result, the men are forced into buying smaller, skinnier and sexier TVs! Oh and cheaper ones too!
signed, the willow
