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O, Canada!

randomlychad  —  January 28, 2016 — 4 Comments

Canada. Land of maple syrup and poutine. America’s hat. You are home to some of the gosh darn nicest folks in this, or any other, galaxy. Lo, it has been many years since I visited your fair shores. But visit you I did one summer in my youth.

Here’s how it happened:

My bother and I were summering with the grandparents in the cool pines of Western Pennsylvania, when one say grandma decided we needed to see the falls. Niagara, that is. So she hustled us into her Oldsmolbuick, and off we were on a road trip. Over the river, and through the woods, with grandmother we went… to Buffalo. Home of wings, Bills, and freezing temperatures. And not a lot else.

In any case, grandma decided that experiencing the falls from the U.S. side, well, was falling a bit short. So crossed the border (“What’s your purpose in visiting Canada, eh?” “Coming to see the falls, sir.” “Well, have a lovely day, and don’t forget the syrup”), and headed for the view.

It was water. It was wet, moist, and misty. I’m not gonna lie, Marge, the surge of that powerful stream is pretty impressive. But it didn’t leave as much of an impression as the Canadian bread shop did. You see, grandma wanted to buy some bread. So why not buy it from a friendly Canadian shop keeper, eh?

So we did. And there, in amongst the loaves, was a special surprise.

“Grandma, what’s this?” I asked, holding up this unknown Canadian prize.

Turning to me, shrieked she, “Here now! Put. That. Down!” You have to understand, I was about eleven at the time. I goggled back at grandma, wondering what it was I held in my outstretched hand.

“Put that dirty thing down now! Where did you find that?”

You see, what I didn’t know at the time, what I held in front of poor grandma’s shocked visage, found there with the Wonderbread, was a Canadian wonder then unknown to my young mind:

An unrolled condom.
(It was probably maple-flavored, but we’ll never know).

O, Canada!

People around the world eat some some funky junk; such as:

Civet Cat Coffee:


In addition to being obscenely expensive, it gets its name from the fact that the Civet Cat eats the raw coffee beans, and then alimentarily expels them on the jungle floor. People then pick through the “tootsie rolls” to find the beans–which–I hope–are sufficiently cleaned before being ground into coffee, and served to you!

Continue Reading…

>Christmas Dawnsphoto © 2008 Marcy Kellar | more info (via: Wylio)

Last week, my wife and I had a date night. These are few and far-between, so it was much-appreciated. We checked out a new (to us) sushi place (where we had our items prepared in a low carb-friendly fashion), had some sugar-free ice cream at Baskin-Robbins (pineapple cocoanut–delish!), and did a little shopping at TJ Maxx.

It was at the Maxx that my wife, Lisa, found some gourmet pistachios. Despite having a mild allergy to them, she’s always loved them. And because they’re low carb-friendly, they make a tasty alternative to potato chips. (A little tip: any lifestyle change, such as we’ve made, is all about the alternatives). So we bought two bags.

For whatever reason, I never got around to eating any of the nuts we got. But it turns out our four-year-old daughter loves them! Just loves them (“Daddy, crack this one for me!”).

All well and good, right?

Well…

Our son (he’s twelve) spent the night at a friend’s on Saturday evening, thus he wasn’t home when it happened. And when I say “it” I mean:

Lisa was sitting on the couch, snacking on pistachios prior to going down for breakfast. We heard our daughter get up, go to the restroom, and as she was heading out to join my wife, I excused myself to the facilities.

As I came back to join them, and invite them down for breakfast, I don’t know why (probably past experience–and the lingering smell wafting from her bathroom), but I asked our daughter if she’d washed her hands after going potty. She said, “No, I didn’t.”

And yet there she was, sharing pistachios from a Tupperware container with her mommy!

Can I get an “Ew! Gross!?” Needless to say, but mommy stopped noshing on those nuts. We told out sweet little girl that they were all her’s now. Every last one of those gourmet pistachios!

And then, as we got her ready to go to church with her grandparents, promptly forgot all about it. (We attend Saturday evening service at our church, and with our son at his friend’s, our daughter going to church with grandma and grandpa, we did what all “good” Christian parents thus unencumbered on a Sunday morning would do: we went to the movies. And saw Thor. Don’t judge us).

Forgot, until later, when…

After picking up our son, going home, and I was again returning from the facilities, I saw:

Brother and sister so sweetly sitting together on the couch in our loft, eating pistachios.

Eating pistachios. The same ones from earlier!

“Oh, no,” I thought.

“Son, come here,” I said, inviting him into the laundry room. And proceeded to tell him the whole sordid tale of his sister’s unwashed potty hands.

“So you don’t want to eat those–they’re ‘poopstachios,'” I finished. I believe he may have said something about hurling right then. And who could blame him?

That’s right, “poopstachios.” You heard it here first.

So it was that a new family meme was borne out of a little girl’s unwashed hands. We are certain to get miles and miles out of this in-joke (and at the most I opportune times, I’m sure).

How about you? Do you have any in-jokes, any family memes you want to share? Has anything like this happened to you?

(By the way, if you enjoyed this post, please check out Bryan Allain’s blog tomorrow for more about my daughter).