July 1st happens to be my wedding anniversary. Sixteenth if you care. In honor of my anniversary, my wife is going to grill me a nice juicy steak this evening.
Really! Unlike your backwards little worlds, in Chez Calcaterra the woman is the master of the grill. Deduct all the man points from me that you want, but just know that while you chauvinists are sweating over a hot grill and demanding that you be in charge of the meat, I’m sitting in a lounge chair and enjoying a tasty beverage. And, truth be told, a much more tasty steak than I could ever grill myself.
July 1st is also notable, however, in that it is Canada Day. I have too many windows open right now to Google it, but I’m pretty sure that Canada Day marks the anniversary of the time a heavily-armed contingent of Canadian freedom fighters drove the British Army into the Bay of Fundy, after which they executed Queen Victoria on the front steps of The Château Frontenac. It’s a nation borne of violence, really, and it’s evident in everything those godless northern heathens do. I should know. My mother’s parents and her entire extended family is Canadian. They’re a people not to be trifled with.
In honor of Canada Day, the Jays played at home this afternoon, and they did it to a packed house, which was nice to see. They also did it in special uniforms in honour of the holiday:
I can’t say I like ’em that much. But I don’t like my mother’s parents or her entire extended family all that much either, so maybe I’m just not meant to understand.
And the Jays lost 7-6 too. Oh, Canada indeed.