"I'm Canadian"

I’m not actually Canadian. I’m half British, but that doesn’t really count. I went to Vancouver once on a day trip. I even briefly dated a hockey playing guy from a place that I can’t even spell. . . No wait, I just crossed the border into Creepy Town and looked him up on FB. I can totally spell Alberta.

Back to the point. Lately outside of the major stores in the area, are a bunch of guys asking to sign a petition. I don’t want to sign anything. Signing a lease on an apartment was difficult for me, so something that could turn into a law and possibly affect millions of people, not cool. If it was a petition for rescuing puppies and kittens, I would sign. But it wasn’t.

I also had a problem with the main guy in charge of the whole petition thing. Ladies, as you know, if you don’t look like a lagoon creature, and know how to brush your hair and put on some Chapstick, you will attract some male attention. When a man checks you out from top to bottom, and is quite obvious about it, it is called the “glad eye”.

I did not want the glad eye from this man. The only way I can describe his appearance and demeanor is if Kenny Loggins and Gollum from Lord of the Rings had a gruesome love child. I try not to judge people, but this guy gave me the heebie jeebies.

So anyways, in order not to talk to this creepy man about whatever that petition was, I just said, “I’m Canadian. I can’t vote here.” I got this idea from my Dad. He plays hockey and always wears this Montreal Canadians sweatshirt.

This creepy man didn’t believe me though. I told him that I won’t become an American citizen because Canada has universal healthcare, a lower drinking age, and that Sidney Crosby is the cutest thing to come out of Nova Scotia. I’m not sure if any of those things are true. . .but hey it worked.
So thank you Dad for the superb lie you told, and thank you Canada for inventing one of my favorite sports.