Crazy. Eccentric. Curious creatures filled with polite mannerisms no one really understands. Except another Canadian, of course.
We eat moose and deer. We drive across ice as if it were a highway, creating bridges and roads that only exist as long as the cold weather does. We drill holes in the ice, too, happily aware that beneath it is hundreds of feet of cold dark water that could kill a man – and really great fishing.
We live in a country where spit freezes before it hits the ground. Where all children over the age of two know not to lick a metal pole and that one should never sleep in the snow – or eat it if it’s yellow.
We travel on snowmobiles (for fun these days, not out of necessity). We have two official languages and manage to mangle one of them beautifully. We love our flag, our country and sing our anthem in quiet, hushed mumbles. (Most of us are trying to remember the words).
We have a Queen. (She doesn’t live in Canada, of course, because it’s just too damned primitive here.) We have an accent, though we’ll never truly admit it. (Unless we embrace it. Yes, we say aboot, hoose an clip our words short.)
We invented insulin, the telephone, and light bulbs. We created the zipper, the
Wonderbra, and the poutine. (Hey, it snows here. A lot. We have to do something with our time.) And yes – we invented the retractable beer carton handle.
But I have a confession to make. Please, sit down. (You probably already are, but it was polite of me to suggest it.) I am going to show my true colors and reveal what is in my heart and soul, because I’m not really who you think I am.
Click here, turn on your speakers and have a listen: