Proposal

“I’ve been thinking,” Martin said, spreading low-fat margarine over his toasted bagel. “We should get married.”

Charlie lowered his newspaper, looked at Martin over the top of his reading glasses. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No.” Charlie went back to reading his paper.

“No, you didn’t hear me or no, you don’t want to get married?” Martin asked, grimacing as he bit into his bagel. It wasn’t the same without cream cheese and jam.

Charlie’s head popped over the paper again. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing, I want to get married.” Martin said, setting his bagel down and picking up his coffee.

Charlie flapped the newspaper pages, but he didn’t look up. “No, you don’t.”

Martin snorted. “You mean you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean, you know I hate that.”

“Why? You tell me what I think.” Martin popped the last piece of bagel into his mouth and dusted toast crumbs off his fingers.

Charlie folded his newspaper, pushed away from the table. Thirty years with Martin had taught him when to retreat. “I’m off to the gym.”

“I don’t know why you bother going. It’s not like you actually work out,” Martin said, getting up to slot his breakfast plate into the dishwasher.

“Should have thought that was obvious,” Charlie said, rounding the kitchen table, and pinning Martin to the counter. “I go to get away from you.”

Laughter spilling into Martin’s face, he slipped Charlie’s reading glasses off, and set them on the counter. “Get out of here, moron.”

At the kitchen door, Charlie turned back, raised an eyebrow at Martin. “You bought rings, didn’t you?”

“Thought you were leaving?” Martin asked, pouring himself a second cup of coffee.

“Ah, shit.” 

Martin sipped his coffee, heard the hangers clang in the hall closet as Charlie got his jacket. 

“No reception,” Charlie called down the hallway to the kitchen, closing the front door behind him.

Ever the romantic, his Charlie.

Aimer at Amazon

 

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Impulse Buys

Ads pop up on my laptop, emails scream sale price at me, and Amazon and I have a one-click-to-buy relationship. Shopping 24/7, the ultimate consumer dream, brought to you by the good folks at the internet.

I’m ancient enough to remember how excited we all were when stores were first allowed to open on Sundays, but now…

Who needs store hours when you can buy stuff while sitting in your bathtub?

Most of the time, I’m good at reigning in the impulse buying. I don’t order from the Shopping Network, I ignore the ads for creams that claim to be better than face-lifts, and I consider things like currency exchange, custom fees, and delivery charges before pulling out my credit card.

Usually.

There have been times though…

There are two red-velvet covered 1907 theatre seats from the Royal Alexandra Theatre  sitting in my basement gathering dust because I read an email at 5 A.M. after a sleepless night. I thought they’d look great in my living room. They don’t.

Which is not to say that all online purchases are a mistake…

Two years ago, when he was 12 years old, Louis Bilodeau bought a flock of sheep on Kijiji.

Now at 14, he’s a sheep farmer, a high school student, and the lamb supplier to a Montreal restaurant.

He even has a dish named in his honour, Méchoui fumé de Louis.

Obviously, Louis is a smarter shopper than I am 🙂

Aimer at Amazon

 

Escape Games

An hour of entertainment or a humbling trip into inadequacy?

Hmmm …

It depends entirely on whether you and your trusty companions manage to escape before the clock ticks down to — you lose.  And BTW, you’re a moron.

Nice, right?

FYI, this is not a game to play with your spouse/partner/anyone you intend to get naked with.

Why not?

Have you ever tried sticking your arm through a hole in a wall and, using a handheld mirror to reflect back the contents of the room on the other side of the wall, find a green button?

That’s the easy part.

The hard part is describing the location of said button to your husband, so that he can stick his arm through an opening cut into a door and hit the button only you can see.

Take it from one who knows, don’t do it.

Apparently, to some people, not naming any names here, the instruction move straight ahead is ambiguous.

We’re not even going to get into the bit where I was too short to see some of the clues and too clueless to get most of the ones I did see.

Considering my abysmal performance, you’d be justified in assuming I won’t be swiping my credit card at one of these escape rooms ever again.

Wrong.

I remain uncowed and unconvinced. I refuse to believe I can’t figure out how to escape … eventually.

Aimer at Amazon

 

 

Welcome Home

No one says Welcome Home anymore.

In my house, I’m lucky if anyone turns away from the TV for a whole two seconds and tosses a Hi in my direction. No one actually gets up and comes to the door. Basically, I got more enthusiastic welcomes from the dog, but he’s moved out.

Banners say Welcome Home, but unless you’ve been stuck in the hospital for a month or carried a gun somewhere overseas don’t expect anyone to string one up for you anytime soon.

Has this lack of an anachronistic pleasantry darkened my days and ruined my nights? No. I never even thought about it, much less rued its absence, until…

On my way home recently, I asked Google to talk me through the traffic and ever-present construction. Eventually, I pulled into my driveway. My phone said…

Welcome Home.

LOL, literally. Huge smile on my face.

I considered driving around the block just to come back and hear that automated welcome again because—seriously cute.

Who needs people when your phone likes you?  🙂

Aimer at Amazon

 

 

Canadian Rhythm

From the National Film Board of Canada, celebrating 79 years this month, one of it’s most requested classics — The Log Driver’s Waltz

Passing on the smiles 🙂

These days, most of us need all our coordination just to cross the street and the logging industry long ago replaced the dancing loggers with machines, but national consciousness originates in the past.

As my neighbours in Quebec say, “Je me souviens.” (I remember.)

Aimer at Amazon

Land of Weird: Episode 3

Weird may be a bit harsh, let’s go with different.

Prince Edward Island, home of red-sand beaches, lighthouses and lobsters is embracing the different with a new competitive spectator sport — Lobster Trap Stacking.

Huh?

Competitors carry 15 lobster traps that weigh 41 kilograms (90 pounds) for a distance of nine metres (30 feet) and stack them five tiers high.

lobster-traps-on-p-e-iAll competitors must supply their own gloves and safety boots. The winner is chosen based on speed and the neatness of their stacking. Top prize is  $1,000.

Personally, my idea of a summer spectator sport is sitting at an outdoor cafe, sipping a latte and watching all the beautiful people that seem to emerge with the sunshine, but …

If you happen to be in P.E.I. on July 12th this summer, stop by the Summerside Lobster Carnival and cheer on the trappers 🙂

Aimer at Amazon

 

No Escape

We started with one Google Home (voice activated smart speaker) downstairs in the kitchen, but then, of course, we needed one upstairs in the bedroom.  Fine, good, done.

Uh …

I got tired of certain people, okay one person in particular, raising the volume of the speaker in the kitchen so he could hear it in the family room. Because watching one hockey, football, basketball game wasn’t enough, he had to know the scores of all the other games.

Okay, a Google Mini for the family room. Fortunately, they were on sale. Done.

Uh …

Another family member (looks an awful lot like me) couldn’t handle the crummy, staticky sound of the ancient radio in the washroom. And who wants to fiddle with a dial when you can say, “Okay, Google” ?

Now, we’ve got four of these things. We’re talking to Google more than we are to each other and everyone is happy.

Uh …

Last night, I’m at my laptop trying to get my WIP to actually progress — Google lights up. My husband’s voice comes out of the speaker. The Leafs are ahead four to three.

Did you know these speakers can double as an intercom system?

I didn’t. Neither did my husband until he had lunch with a techie friend yesterday. Said friend better not be showing up for dinner anytime soon.

Well past eleven last night, the house is quiet. I’m downstairs drinking tea and reading — Google lights up. My husband’s voice says, I can’t sleep alone.

Thanks to technology, no matter which room I’m in, no matter how many doors I close —

There is no escape 🙂

Aimer at Amazon

Wouldn’t Happen to a Guy

Last summer. Sun in the sky, top down on the car, a friend I hadn’t seen in far too long sitting in the passenger seat. A perfect day —

Random warning light on the dashboard. Dead car. Mystery message staring up at me from behind the steering wheel. Words, not icons. Even I knew that wasn’t good.

“No Key in Vehicle.”

What???

I’d been driving for half an hour, what do you mean, there’s no key in the car?

Frantic search, my bag, the seats, the floor, the glove compartment, the armrest — no key.

The rep at the car dealership was incredibly helpful, “Yeah, that’s weird.”

CAA couldn’t get my car on the tow truck. They searched YouTube, dug under the gear shift, opened the trunk, closed trunk.

My friend leaned into me, “I think I saw something.”

Yep. The key was in the trunk.

Apparently, I’d been driving around for days with the key in the trunk instead of in my bag. Who knew?

The car drove just fine until I took a roundabout. The key banged about inside the trunk, slid out of sensor range — warning light, mystery message, car that refused to go anywhere.

Naturally, I felt like the world’s biggest moron, but in my own defense neither the guy at the car dealership nor the one who showed up with the tow truck figured it out either. I mean, my car told me there was No Key in Vehicle. You’d think she’d know.

On the way home that night, it occurred to me — This would never have happened to a guy.

Why?

Because guys have pockets.

 

They have pockets in everything, their pants, their shirts, their jackets. They have exterior pockets and interior pockets.

Sure, men can cart around a backpack, a computer case, a cute little leather clutch, but — their keys are in their pocket.

Not in the trunk of the car.

Aimer at Amazon