I don’t have what I’d consider a whole post today, but I do have a few stories that I can Frankenstein together and pretend is a whole post, as long as you’re not fussy about “theme,” “segues,” “quality,” or anything outside of pure stream of consciousness.
Now that I’ve managed expectations, let’s dive in.
A Confederacy of Dunces
Our friend Lisa is originally from Canada. (You guys know her from here—hi, Lisa!) Last week, it occurred to me that I know only a small amount about her country even though it’s just, like, right there, camped out in America’s attic. Largely, I know Timbits, poutine, and Keanu. Frankly, that’s enough to make me pledge my allegiance, but still. So, I came up with the bright idea to have her grill us on our Canadian knowledge on our Friday night Zoom call.
Here’s how it went, to the best of my recollection:
“Lisa, I was thinking it would be fun if you tried to get us to name all six provinces of Canada,” I said.
Always game, Lisa replied, “Okay… except there are ten.”
Well, shit. We were already failing this test.
I said, “Okay, let’s do this,” and then I shouted, “Vancouver!”
Lisa replied, “That’s a city.”
“Toronto!” Karyn said.
“Also a city,” Lisa replied.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Pretty sure about it,” she replied, emphasizing the BOOT in “about” in case we’d forgotten she was Canadian.
“Vancouver!” Karyn guessed.
“Still a city,” Lisa said.
Now, I don’t want to pin all the blame on the U.S. educational system, since Karyn went to great schools her whole life. And I earned a four year degree (although it took me eleven years) at a decent university. Also, Gina was also guessing and she’s a legit Mensa member. If the quiz were to name Canadian cities, we’d have been great, but provinces? We were not good at this. At all. I feel like Canada could use a better publicist. (They should talk to whomever is in charge of Italy, as I know most of their regions, largely because of the cheeses and wines produced there.)
“Ontario,” Gina said.
“Wrong!” I crowed.
“Correct,” Lisa said. Fucking Mensa.
“Calgary!” Karyn guessed.
“Halifax!” I added.
“You’re just shouting city names again,” Lisa said.
I thought long and hard, trying to dig into maple-syrup covered memories of staring at maps in seventh grade geography. “Ottawa!”
“City.”
“Alberta?” Karyn asked, her enthusiasm only slightly waning.
“Yes!” Lisa cried. “That’s two!”
“Quebec!” Gina guessed.
“That’s a city!” I said, delighted to be able to correct Gina.
“And also a province,” Lisa added.
Damn it.
“Have we said Vancouver yet?” I asked.
I wish I could tell you this didn’t go on for about ten minutes until we guessed the next correct answer, yet here we are. I did get one on my own, largely because my grandfather was from Nova Scotia and I imagine Gaga rolling in his grave over me taking so long to guess it. In my defense, Gaga also used to tell me Moon Island was the place where everything you flushed went and also where little girls who didn’t behave were sent, so I assumed Nova Scotia was another one of his elaborate fairy tales. Imagine my surprise in seventh grade when my geography teacher pulled down a rolling map and I learned it was a real destination. I legitimately gasped.
Related note, I sat next to a girl in that class who was being raised by a single mother. Such was my level of naïveté, I had no idea that single mothers held any jobs outside of being sex workers. WTF kind of books was I reading back then? Again, I wish I were kidding. Sometimes she’d come in with new jeans or sneakers, and I’d think to myself, Her mom must have hooked a live one last night. Please understand that when I was bullied in junior high school, I’m sure it was just karma leveling the playing field.
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