On Sunday, Canadians everywhere will be celebrating this nation's birthday.
Or will it be on Monday?
Nobody is really sure.
I'll be celebrating on Monday, as it is the official holiday and my 56th birthday. I've invited the usual suspects to dine, dance and puke in my rose garden. Actually, nobody pukes anymore and I no longer have a rose garden.
Mostly, people will eat what we put out.
I always try to do something different and, this year, I'm going to make banana splits and watermelon margaritas. We'll throw in a few sliders, sausages and grilled dog meat. We have a couple of dead dogs in the freezer; we'll just cook 'em up and see if anybody notices. We'll tell everybody it's moosemeat.
Seriously, before anyone rats me out to PETA, do you think I would ever do such a thing?
Unless I was in a plane crash and a pack of Huskies came along and I hadn't eaten for days.
I'd probably eat the pilot first.
I was thinking maybe we could play horseshoes, or better yet, get out the golf clubs and chip balls across St. Laurent Boulevard. Wouldn't that be fun. Maybe we'll try a three iron and see if we can hit the loud mouth who lives kitty corner to us in the apartment building. That guy is a first class ass wipe, responsible for frequent visits from the Ottawa police and fire service. I'd like to get him right between the eyes.
Maybe not. Maybe at 56, I'm too old for such merriment.
What do I want for my birthday, you ask?
I want a new pug.
A fawn pug, in memory of Ping Pong. But I can't have one just yet.
I have to first pay off the vet bills from the dispatching of Ming and Hannah.
Oh yes, and the pulling of Gordie's teeth.
I will have one, not on my birthday, may next birthday, maybe in my dotage.
It's on my bucket list.
Have a dog that makes everyone jump up at once and wipe fur off their clothes.
What a neat prank.
I loved Ming for that.
I miss her. That I do.
She's irreplaceable. Besides, we're so broke I'll just have to settle for a box of wine.
From the 50 percent off rack.
Five Air Miles.
You don't need money to have a nice birthday. Look how in debt Canada is!
And she can still afford to put on a lame show on Parliament Hill which is 90 percent French or stupid.
Something involving feathers and fiddles.
In my back yard, there won't be a show.
Just a bunch of yelling and high fiving in funny shirts.
We'll be having fun at the expense of Canada.
We will wear silly shirts and mock Canada.
You're never too old for that.
Here's wishing you a safe and wonderful holiday.
Don't drink and drive.
And if you decide to walk, pass us by.
Don't puke in my rose garden.