I do admit that, by and large, I have given up email correspondence with people. I just coldly say to inquiries: “Read my blog!” And I do not really know if they do or not, unless they email me with responses. I insist upon email to my email and not to the blog site.
But, for one reason or another, I am locked in email correspondence with this man who shall remain nameless. He is very funny as you shall see. I wrote (and will write) of my alienation from my nuclear family. At this point we were discussing alienation from my brother Dale, who does in all certainty does NOT read my blog. “Unnamed man” writes of the ‘blood thicker than water’ phrase and gives this example. He wrote: “When my father railed against his Australian sister, for her behaviour and attitudes, I said that she was family (thicker than water) and whilst recognizing that her behaviour was not appropriate we still needed to accept that she was family. Having spent some time with her in Australia, she is rather strange (think bet davis/ Sunset boulevard? and similar films) but still family. Even her son , who lives with her (after an acrimonious divorce form an aboriginal woman), refuses to pick up the muck form his dog, gets up at 2am and plays loud music underneath guests bedrooms, and, worst of all, loves fishing and fills his mums freezer with the most horrendous looking Australian fish, is still family. And valued as such.”
So, unnamed man and I fight a great deal. Verbally of course. I strongly disagree with him, and send this volley: “I do not share your family value viewpoint. Another one of our dissimilarities. My friends have always been the source of my stability and joy. Cousin Gail for me is something fantastically new and different and fills me with hope and I have taken this and formed a new family which everyone is grateful for. (read my book…oops I have to write it first). I would deal with your aunt’s situation as follows…I would tell the rotter to turn down the music, kill the damn dog and ram the fishing rod up his rear end. Different strokes for different folks.” I am funny. So is he. One woman I met at Watt’s Gallery told me that the trait of humour is the thing that scores of man are attracted to. Perhaps. Who knows, and actually, who cares.
I also hear from my dearest friend Colette. She wrote in an email entitled: ‘Your Blog’. “I have just gotten caught up on your blog and wanted to tell you that the piece about Trump dressing as a woman had me laughing out loud. I also liked finding out about the plane, the origami and arriving safely in Vancouver. Much love, Colette.” Colette was right, gentle reader, my Trump piece was hilarious. It had to do with panty house and blouses. It is a couple of postings back. Do Trump in the search engine and you will find it.
But now, onto the Ironed Sheets. Gail said that her sister Geri called her and asked her what she was doing. Gail responded that she was ironing sheets for Alexis. I said to Gail: “What?!? Ironing Sheets for Me?” I then collapsed in mock death on the sheets. She responded “yes”, and that she had not done that in eons. Did that make me feel special? Well, yeah.
We had the most hilarious day, my first day back in Canada. It was marred by a problem or two. For example, a warning light came on in her Toyota. I read the book that said: “Get thee to the dealership!” We obeyed. And, this great guy working there called Cory treated us like royalty.
We got a ride to a nearby Starbucks. They looked at the car immediately and we were out of there in a flash, with so many laughs. Cory was driving us to Starbucks. I asked him where he was taking us and intimated that he was going to sell us into white slavery. He said no, but that he was a mass murderer. I admitted that it was typical, that is my taste in men. Unfortunately it is not a huge exaggeration.
We did get special treatment, and got ahead of two old grouchy ladies. I said to Cory in all honesty, “I am so impressed. In London we would be here at the dealership for two and a half weeks with everyone telling us it was the wrong department.” That is the truth, you Londoners.
We had a great lunch at Cactus Gardens (not the Rex Whistler), but, any port in a storm.
The project of the day was to get me a new phone and plan. Almost, but not quite, a success. Virgin Media, a gold iPhone, black cover and a killer plan. I am about to be happy. Happy, and will have a new telephone number. Or actually A Telephone Number because the stupid London plan does not work here. It will be a 778 area code.
So, with the good experience with the Toyota dealership and with the phone, I am thinking very seriously of just living in Vancouver. Well, that and because of Gail, who is so funny and tolerant. Nick, the guy from Virgin Media asked Gail when I was out of ear shot if I was “always like this.” Gail said: “I don’t know, but I picked her up from the airport twenty four hours ago and she has been like this since then. And, she must have jet lag.” That is funny and true.
I forgot something that the wonderful Japanese lady from the plane said. I commented on the name of the cosmetics in the complementary bag we all get. It was called: “Cow Shed”. Honest. She said rather tactfully: “That name is rather off putting.” I probably am too.
