Gall’n’grimes Day

Reservations made. Cocktails consumed. Rich food downed. Wine swished. Dessert drizzled. An extra special attempt to put all the problems and worries out of mind. Return home. Fight.

It’s never been so obvious: Valentine’s Day is a conspiracy against lovers.

Do not be left disappointed in the wake of this Monday, February 14th. Plan your day very carefully! Valentine’s Day is not a day for going out of our way to show LoverBoy/Girl how much we care. We should do that everyday!

If there’s one thing I have learnt about relationships, it’s this: If you have to make an effort, there’s something wrong!!

Showing your appreciation should be in the little everyday things, it should come easily and be reciprocated frequently, without prompting. I have learnt this the hard way, and sadly, had my ex and I figured this out sooner, he wouldn’t be buried under the porch. But I digress.

Now where was I? Oh yes, Valentines Day = bad. I started to explain this to LoverBoy the other day, when I realised I didn’t need to. He was in complete agreement and seemed relieved when I announced that “I don’t celebrate V-Day, I think it’s a pile of crap”. His response sealed the deal: “Yeah, why do we need a day to remind us to be nice to each other? I bet most people just get drunk and fight.” It’s a pretty emotionally charged day and the one thing that LoverBoy and I like most is: avoiding opportunities for bullshit. So, we boycott.

In keeping with my contempt for “idyllic mushy crap”, we will be turning V-Day on it’s head by anti-celebrating.  LoverBoy will be very late and not shave. I will gain 25lbs and take up chain-smoking. The food will be poorly cooked and we will have to be rushed to the hospital, where we have near-death experiences and develop a gift for predicting lottery numbers and luggage combinations. It will be discovered that we contracted a rare bacteria and experiments will be performed on us. We will suffer from amnesia and need rehabilitation, where we meet each other again for the first time. During our recovery, we will become very close and fall in love. One day, we will decide not to celebrate Valentine’s Day…

Good-luck on V-Day, everyone!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised Venus I’d give her a good seeing to 😉

Tech support for husband =/fail

Dear tech support, 

Last year I upgraded from Boyfriend 5.0 to Husband 1.0 and noticed a distinct slow down in overall system performance, particularly in the flower and jewelry applications, which had operated flawlessly under Boyfriend 5.0. 

In addition, Husband 1.0 uninstalled many other valuable programs, such as: 
• Romance 9.5 and 
• Personal Attention 6.5

and then installed undesirable programs such as: 
• NBA 5.0 
• NFL 3.0
• Golf Clubs 4.1. 
• Toilet Seat Up (w/ bonus Rim Pee) 6.66

Also, Conversation 8.0 no longer runs, and Housework 6.1 merely crashes the system, resulting in an error message “Warning: Mega Sulk x10 File has commenced. Click Ok Hunny Sorry to Disturb You and restart.”

Please note that I have tried running Nagging 5.3 to fix these problems, but to no avail. What can I do? 

Signed,

Desperate House-knife

Dear Desperate, 

First, keep in mind, 
• Boyfriend 5.0 is an Entertainment Package, while 
• Husband 1.0 is an operating system. 

Please enter command: ithoughtyoulovedme.html and download Tears 6.2. Once complete, commence the Guilt 3.0 update.

This system bypass will then cause Husband 1.0 to automatically run the applications Jewelry 2.0 and Flowers 3.5. Note that you must complete these steps each time as they cannot be imbedded into Husband 1.0 permanently due to memory constraints.

Please be advised that overuse of the above can cause Husband 1.0 to default to Grumpy Silence 2.5 and Happy Hour 7.0 leaving your system susceptible to the Beer virus. 

Please note that Beer is a very bad virus that will run the Farting and Snoring Loudly Beta even if you try to cancel it. 

Whatever you do, DO NOT under any circumstances install Mother-In-Law 1.0 (it runs a spybot in the background that will monitor and eventually control of all your system resources.) 

In addition, please do not attempt to reinstall the Boyfriend 5.0 program as these are unsupported applications and will crash Husband 1.0. 

Studies have shown that Husband 1.0 is a great program, but it does have limited memory and cannot learn new applications quickly. You might consider buying additional software to improve memory and performance. We recommend:
• Cooking 3.0 and 
• Hot Lingerie 7.7. 

Good Luck!
Tech Support 

 

– submitted by John Dean of Florida, Class of ’59; with files from WN2D

The Ghost of Windows Tapped

Once upon a Manchester dreary, while I blogged all cheek  and sneery,
Churning out my faint and furious volume of dating gore,
While I plotted, clearly laughing, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some looser gently rapping, rapping at my windows four.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `hoping for my chamber door –
These late night callers are such a chore.’

* * *

 

I love windows. And my flat has the best collection of windows in the world. The problem with windows is that they work both ways. Alas, it’s quite common for the creatures of the night to take advantage of my ground floor position:

1. Broken glass, garbage, hair extensions, acrylic nails, shoes, underpants, condoms, etc.

2. One dead fox that deflated slowly until the council finally removed it

3. The gardener and window washer – who only appear to be at work when I’m naked and misplace my towel

4. A variety of strange men who I refer to as The Window Tappers.

* * *

Ah, distinctly I remember it was roughly last October,
And each separate dying date crashed and burned upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished for Pinot; – sanity I had sought to borrow
In the glass, I drowned my sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden who ripped me off to start a fabric softener company, (*hiccup) what a whore.

* * *

My first experience with The Window Tappers was about a year ago. There’s a creepy man with stringy hair who likes to go around from time to time and poke at all my windows with a stick. He claims that he can hear the music from his flat but he doesn’t live in my building nor or on my street. None of my neighbours have seen him …

(*Whispers) I see Window Tappers.

One time, some sketched out guy found himself bored on my lawn, in need of some entertainment. I had just watched Paranormal Activity, so I was already pretty freaked out even before the shadow of a hand began to slowly and methodically tap at the window. In a moment of madness, I jumped on the back of the couch and flung the curtains open, doing my best Karate Kid impression. Wax on, fuck off.

And, from time to time, an ex of mine likes to pay me a visit, standing on the lawn, looking in, smiling and waving. He seems to regard windows as a default system for when I don’t answer the door, phone or texts. Why take the stairs when you don’t have to leave the comfort of the lawn? Especially with all those rocks to crawl back under.

I’m still mulling over the possible solutions to Window Tappers and I think that maybe I should just hang a note or a sign in the window … LOL!

 

* * *

Presently my soul grew stronger; patience staying not much longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, are you truly such a loser-sore?;
But the fact is I’m not laughing, so annoyingly you came rapping,
Foolishly you thought that tapping, tapping at my windows four,
Would assure I’d believe your lore’ – here I opened wide the door; –
Raised two middle-fingers, then nothing more.

Operation: Get Dumped

I’d feel a lot better if I didn’t have to do all the dumping every time. Naturally, I was thrilled when Mr. T didn’t call me for 5 weeks while I was on holiday. There’s nothing worse than picturing someone pining after you when you’re in the middle of a blowjob.

Time to get home for Operation Get Dumped: the lazy way out of a relationship that is already over!

Step1: become critical

Little did I know what had happened to my flat while I was gone. To my horror, Mr. T  gave it a total fucking makeover! Hippy-harem meets DIY: giant ferns, many bowls of fruit (with accompanying flies), weird-glowing-fibre-optics-thing on coffee table, and a warped fun-house mirror drilled into my new door. This was clearly not what “here’s my key, please collect the mail” looks like. I told him that it looked like shit and then threw everything out.

Step2: never go out anymore

He decided that for his birthday I was going to prepare dinner for him. He wanted a nice, traditional Canadian meal. I made Kraft Dinner. After all the effort I went to, Mr.T was half an hour late, took one look at the food and was suddenly not hungry. I made him eat it anyways. “It is an insult not to eat the traditional Canadian dish once you have looked at it. Very bad.” I pretended to cry. He gagged it down. I clapped. He did real crying.

Step3: forget how to use the phone

I was so busy being emotionally unavailable that I failed to notice he hadn’t called me all week. How dare he not call me when I’m the one who’s making the point of not calling him!

I celebrated being dumped by going to Canal Street and pulling. Then I received a text from Mr.T expecting my presence in exactly one hour. I replied in two hours saying that I’m rarely available on such short notice.

Step4: become very distant

The next day, I received an angry text from Mr. T letting me know that he was coming to my house immediately because “we need to talk”. Whether he arrived or not remains a great mystery as I was at the opposite end of the city that day. This time my reply instructed him to take a number like everyone else.

The following day, he called me. A billion times. Left angry messages. Then he was banging on my door. He stood outside in the rain and shouted “Please!” for a while. I’m not sure how long because I turned the volume up on X-Factor and made a snack. There’s no way I’m opening the door to that behaviour.

 

Mission = Fail

Later on, I called him and said that we didn’t “need to talk” because I got the message. I was dumped. Thanks for everything and good bye. Right? Wrong! He was shocked! Why would I think such a silly thing? I pointed out that when you don’t call a girl for a month, pimpify her flat, show up late for your own birthday meal, and then sleep with her and not call (again!) that means that you don’t particularly like her and you don’t want to be with her. He told me I was wrong. I told him to go back to his home planet.

I was prepared for the drunk-dialing and the texts, but I wasn’t ready for the grand finale: “Hi how is you? I think we should be friends never that to end. It been really great knowing you. How is work? Well, I hope 2 c U round. Oh, by a way, I forgot to ask … will you sign my immigration papers for me? Just say I is good boy.”

wtf?!

Damn! Still Gettin’ Played Like A Dime Store Jukebox

I’d like to thank all the LittlePeople. For lying. For scheming. For wasting my time. For assuming that I am one of them.

 

While there is no shortage of LittlePeople on earth, they are often hard to identify at first. This can be quite frustrating for the GoodFriend (the rest of us) who requires a period of time in order to recognise whether a LittlePeople has infiltrated their valuable space/time. Usually it takes 4-6 weeks:

1. First to emerge will be self-infatuation: all LittlePeople’s sentences start with “I”, they are the centre of everything, they like to update you about their life, but rarely ask about yours, and they are they only one to “like” their own Facebook status.
2. Next to emerge will be a slew of “health” issues: insomnia, thyroid, bladder, sinus – basically any health problem that cannot be seen by the naked eye. LittlePeople never break a bone but ALL suffer from migraines. Interesting.
3.  Finally, the above two will culminate in unreliability and frequent cancellations. Usually there is an “emergency” or outrageous excuses sent electronically at the last minute. (LittlePeople are notorious for their inability to dial a phone or even speak in times of “crisis”.)
4. LittlePeople are always AWOL but expect you to be available whenever they feel like re-surfacing.

The Summer of No Love

This summer, my LittlePeople count hit an all-time high of 4 – yes FOUR! One little boy wanted me to play hide-and-seek; my ex-girlfriend turned out to be a pathological liar and a drunk; Mr. T filled my flat with fake plants and then went MIA – “is veddy busy”; and I got stood up. Twice. It’s not me, it’s you.

Don’t you know who I am?! Hi! I’m the person who can chew you up and spit you out in before you know what was going on. Yeah, that one. The one that comes with a warning label. I’m the one you don’t fuck with.

Being a kind, intelligent, attractive person doesn’t make me a push-over. It’s called having a good personality. You should get one. They’re fun.

What To Do If You Notice a LittlePeople Near By

Remain calm. Do not startle it, they can become highly volitile as they are used to getting their own way. Try walking backwards and humming. If it approaches you, scare it off by banging pots and pans together or asking to borrow money.

And, always remember: God created the delete button for a reason.

Why Didn’t I Get a Second Date?

Common sense is something my mom likes to call “uncommon sense”. She says that my generation has total license to blame her generation for breaking all the rules and neglecting to establish some new ones. This leaves the WhatNot2Date (WN2D) generation of single-ish people slightly, how you say … f@cked. But, the show must go on!

I dare say even I have been guilty of a few dating faux pas. Yes, I know – if you look up decorum in the dictionary, you will find a picture of me – but my mom has instructed me to get off my high horse and admit that I too can be WN2D. And I listen to my mom because a) she has lived and dated longer than I have and b) I fear for my life a little bit.

So, here are some classic examples of do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do:

 

If you want a second date, DON’T:

1. date an investment banker solely for the purpose of obtaining free financial advice. Apparently they are very sensitive about this.
2. call to ask someone why they won’t call you back. They won’t return that call either. Plus you will appear desperate and you’ll end up with a call from their creepy friend instead.
3. be over-tired on a date. They will indeed notice that you’re hiding yawns behind your coffee cup and taking a nap behind the menu. “Yum! It all looks so zzzzzzzzz…”
4. accept a drive-by date. This is when they are in their car and you are on the sidewalk. It’s just like Pretty Woman, only that’s definately not Richard Gere!
5. return your sister’s car without replacing the tissue and removing the condom wrapper(s) … //sisterfail
6. add them to Facebook. This is not the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
7. try to arrange a date with their hot(er) friend when they are within earshot. Unless you want to split a taxi home with yourself.
8. swear, fart and pick your nose. Only your friends think this is cute.
9. try to squeeze out the bathroom window. It’s further down than you think!
10. Oh, I almost forgot: BLOG about it all over the internet!

Oh dear! How embarassing. Even when I lose I win!

Happy Birthday 2u! Older! … Wiser?

It’s my birf-day! Do a back flip! It’s my birf-day! WN2D is officially one year old! But am I a year wiser?

Flashback one year: In shock. Couldn’t sleep. Neck problems. Heartbroken.

The present: Nothing shocks me. Stay awake for all the good reasons. A very expensive osteopath is fixing my neck/back/everything. Heart repaired with rusty needle and string.

The interim: I deliver the shocks! No sleep ‘til Brooklyn! Take up every sport in an attempt to cure OTT aggression. Heart? What heart?

Will I ever love again? Will I ever trust again? No and NoOo! Not if I have anything to say about it. What’s the point in searching for semantics anyhow? Don’t look for hidden treasures. What you see is what you get. Just enjoy the moment. The moment is exactly that. Don’t get greedy. Nothing gold stays green, Ponyboy!

I have been single for a year, I don’t regret it and I hope I’ll never be tied down again (in a non-kinky way, of course!) This is the longest I have gone without a “boyfriend” since grade 1 – I had almost forgotten all that unpleasant business of Ricky and Jesse giving me stolen jewellery! A fugitive at age 7! The ban on boyfriends was quickly installed by my parents and subsequently broken by me. This is also when I realised that just because I wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend … it didn’t mean I couldn’t have a girlfriend!

But I digress … where was I? (That’s the thing with being single, you can spend a whole evening just interrupting yourself!) Oh yes, that’s it! In honour of the birthday festivities, I present to you my lovelies and lovers … drum roll please … the Anniversary List of WN2D just for you:

10 Reasons Why the SingleLife is a Cut Above the Rest

If you’re starting to think that you might be better off on your own – you might just be right. Take care of NumberOne and trust you instincts. Look at what you could be missing out on right now all because you’ve not given Mr./Miss RightNow the old heave-ho: 

1. I never have to turn down a cute guy/girl in the club, on the street, in the grocery store, at target practise, well … you get the picture!
2. Missed opportunity? Bad timing? I’m sorry – are those English phrases?
3. I can’t remember the last time I argued over chores, money, work schedules, groceries, kids, in-laws, etc etc etc.
4. Nobody tells me what to do unless they want to be on Unsolved Mysteries.
5. My toilet rim is pee-free!
6. I can have make up sex with someone else.
7. CDs, important papers and keys are exactly where I left them.
8. There are no teeth marks in the cheese.
9. Let me check my schedule – oh look! I’m freeee!
10. My flat does not require 6 remote controls before one can operate the TV or make toast.

Wait just a second! Is SingleLife for everyone? Obviously the human species would die out! While I do consider myself a form of population control (you can thank me later), I also recognise that it’s not the right choice for everyone. Are you past your sell-by date?

10 Reasons Why the SingleLife Just Voted You Off

Some people must join the Mate&Procreate squad sooner or later, thereby sacrificing their lives for the betterment of mine. Which side are you on?

1. You own/want to own at least one cat.
2. You’re looking for someone who ticks all the boxes on Stuff White People Like.
3. You fantasize about repairmen and check the postman’s ring finger daily.
4. You go to the grocery store in your pjs. Yes, Uggs count as slippers.
5. You stop going to the gym/exercising because you want someone “who likes me just the way I am.” Sure, fat and lazy is a must in most personal ads.
6. You think that using birth control has worse side effects than if you didn’t use it.
7. You can’t remember the last time you bought razors.
8. You find Febreze cuts down on your washing costs.
9. You have “When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple” memorised; you are wearing purple now.
10. I haven’t invited you out in a while!

Well, I know where I stand! There’s nothing like Ridin’ Solo!

One year later: I’m stronger, fitter, wary and a bit intimidating. Thanks for ridin’ with me, everyone. It’s all thanks to you that whenever I look up “the best revenge” in the dictionary I see a picture of me: living well!

Note: this is not a picture of me, it’s just a really fitting song. I am not a picture. I am a thousand+ words.

A Rolling Stone Gathers No Bullshit

Me and Singledom sitting in a tree,

Doing It casually,

When along comes love,

Then comes marriage,

Next I’ll need a (bulky, state-of-the-art, 4WD) baby carriage. 

Second verse: same as the first, a little bit louder and a whole lot worse!

This is the decade when I’m supposed to have a mortgage, even though I can’t commit to a country. I’m expected to have a car, even though I can’t commit to parking legally. And, most of all, I’m supposed to recognise that “time is running out” even though I can’t commit to wearing a watch.

Are these the things I really need? Are these the things that I secretly want, but refuse to achieve because I have some Freudian aversion to anything that prevents me from calling all the shots? 

The Stick of Doom and Destiny

I have the utmost respect for women who sacrifice their life for their partner and family. I watched my mom do it with awe and fear. It is a brave woman who pees on the stick and reaches for the folic acid over a bottle of wine and a trip to the clinic. I do not have an ounce of this bravery in me. Nor do I wish to summon it.

Yes, I have a committment problem, but I do not think that Peter Pan had it made. I think he was a dick but dated him (in all his forms) anyways. And, while I will always side with Wendy, I think that there are many different ways to be a grown up, namely that taking care of others is a 9-5 with a pension, not a lifestyle. My problem with commitment is that I’m already taken: by Me.

Forever 21 is a Nice Store, But I Wouldn’t Want to Live There

No, I have not decided I’m going to party like it’s 1999. In fact, the last party I went to saw me at home in bed by 10.30pm. Unfortunately, two friends of mine couldn’t make that event because it wasn’t child-friendly and I bet they were up later than me! Furthermore, at said party, my girls and I chatted about new washing machines, yoga and vegetarian recipes. So, no, I don’t think I’m too immature, too irresponsible or too hung over to apply for the partner-kids-mortgage package. I’m just not in the target market.

 

Why Don’t Some Women Get Married?

Call me traditional, but I really do think it all begins with marriage. So, I google “women who don’t marry” in search of solidarity but the top results only make it worse:

1. A book on Why Men Marry Some Women and Not Others

2. A Telegraph article on why women are running out of men to marry

3. An angry woman’s blog about how men are “lazy bums”

4. A Forbes article warning “whatever you do, marry a woman with a career”

5. A feminist site that explains that women don’t want to waste their energy

Well, that was helpful – not! I’m not a feminist, I’m not hard up for choice, I don’t hate on men (much) and a career is just a job. Could it be that women who don’t get married are simply doing the things that married women are doing (yoga, BBQs, washing machines) only they are doing them without a ring on?

Okay, so the mystery of why some women don’t marry may never be solved, and I’m certainly not about to enter the to-breed-or-not-to-breed debate here! So let’s see why some women don’t even buy property with a partner: oh goody! Advice on cheating, violence and whether love can survive if she earns more. Just what I need. Google: you are no longer a verb, you are an expletive!

Why DO Some Women Get Married?

It chills me to the bone when I think about life insurance, college funds and listening for the key in the door. How do people do it? Are they deluded or do they just hope that everything will be okay?

I have no fear of being alone. I enjoy my own company and when I get bored of myself I go outside and play with others. Sometimes I even play nicely. My fear is of being left alone. Of being stranded up shit creek with a real estate agent, a lawyer, crabby kids and only one bullet.

Sleeves Are For Noses, Not Hearts

The convenient thing about dating crazy people is that they propose to you straight away. The future is now – no need to worry about hyphenated surnames or hanging about on WillOurKidsBeUgly? dot com sites. Indecent proposals help keep the queue moving along nicely.

MatrimonyMadness is my favourite deal-breaker as it quickly provides a wonderful excuse for me to bolt. Think about it: my only long-term relationship was with a man who refused to marry me. Turned out he was already married to his best friend! But I digress …

On average, twice a year, I find myself innocently happening along when suddenly, out of the casual encounters blue, someone goes and spoils it by  wanting to get married. I have been collecting failed engagements like Happy Meal toys. It all started when I jilted poor Ricky at the apple tree altar in grade 2. Flashback to the good ol’ days:

1. High school: got caught wearing two promise rings at the same time. (Why did God invent two ring fingers then, huh!?)
2. Uni: WWF Newmarket. Tow Truck Timmy vs Motorbike Mike. The man, the winch, the legend.
3. Last year: my last proposer asked if we could we please live in separate flats when we’re married so he could remain on the dole

Alas! Just when I thought I had put this all behind me, and could carry on living the simple, single life forever, I got extremely drunk last week and accidentally agreed to marry Mr. T – oops!

When I came to, I quickly called the FUBAR cousin to review the events of the previous night. Apparently she was eating all the couscous while the whole thing went down and thus was absolutely useless to me, except for a stunning review of the food and everyone’s outfit.

Shit, now I would have to call Mr. T and get his version. And, since he opted not to neck a bottle of wine whilst singing the Bugs Bunny and Tweety theme tune, his recollection would be much more reliable than mine. So I did something I have not done in a long time: I thought about someone else’s feelings. The great riddle was how, with grace and charm, does one say: “Um did we accidentally get engaged in English, French or Arabic when we were drunk the other night? Cuz I’m not sure what I committed to. Oh and did I also agree to anal? Cuz if not, we also need to discuss your aim.” 

According to moi: I had just slipped out of my wet clothes and into a dry martini when Ginger Rogers and Groucho Marx arrived and we all did an impromptu tap dance, finishing with high dives into a fountain. FUBAR cousin: thinks not.

Finally, the WeNeedToTalk moment arrived and he was at my door with something behind his back, telling me to close my eyes. “Please don’t be a ring, please don’t be a ring, puh-leeeeez don’t be a ring!” After a minute of pee-pee-pants agony, he was down on one knee, arm out stretched, presenting me with … the cutest pair of shoes in the whole wide world! They fit perfectly, exactly my style, my colour, my heel. Clearly, the wedding is back on!
 
While I was jumping around and screaming in my new shoes during our tête-à-tête, I managed to glean that he wants to get married this Christmas! I gave him my carefully planned counter-attack: “In my country, in my culture, it’s customary for you to meet my parents and for me to meet yours before any engagement can be discussed. Very, very disrespectful if you don’t.”  Then I smiled and fluttered my eyelashes. (Women’s lib can’t do everything you know!)

“So if we can wait for me to go to your country, and for you to come to mine that would be The Right Thing To Do.” Quickly adding up the costs, holiday time and logistics, I mentally calculated that I had just got myself at least another year or two of time-biding goodness. Surely by that time the problem will have worked itself out. 

Thankfully, it went very well and though he was surprised at my choice, he respected it. Everybody wins: I get a subsidized holiday in the sun, I get funky shoes and I get more couscous. Am I missing anyone in this equation? … nope, don’t think so!

When trying to figure out why on earth someone would propose after only a few months, my friend said he’s probably just one of those men who wear their heart on their sleeve. I told her that sleeves are for noses, not hearts.

This close call showed me something though. I decided that I wanted to compromise and make some sort of committment in return for his bravery. He now has his own toothbrush and towel at my place. I draw the line at his own drawer, though. There is no reason why my wardrobe space should have to compromise!

 

Kraft Dinner: Think Outside the Box

An Open Letter To: The Good People at Kraft

Re: Kraft Dinner fails flight exam

I have been living abroad for several years in Manchester, England and return regularly to Toronto, Canada to reunite with family, friends and Kraft Dinner. Yet with each passing month, your product continues to become more inconvenient to me. This love-hate affair can only be blamed on how you package your Kraft Dinner: the box is simply not flyer-friendly.

These cumbersome Kraft Dinner boxes take up valuable shoe space in my luggage; empty themselves in my carry-on; and cause great distress at my local post office when my mail sounds like a child’s rattle yet the weight of the package suggests that the owner of said rattle could only be Finn McCool.

Once a year my darling Aunty C comes to visit and brings with her the elixir of bachelorette life: KD. One day, she realised that if one takes the powder pouches out of the KD box, the transportation problem is solved. These magical pouches of powdered gold can then be added to whatever pasta I have in my cupboards. Chop up some tomatoes, maybe an onion, tinned salmon if the Queen is coming round for tea and viola! Kraft Dinner at its finest from your factory, to my aunt’s handbag, to the amazement of the English folk at my dinner table. Sometimes we eat it straight from the pot for that authentic Canadian cuisine feeling! At present, we are still working on what the role of Ketchup is in all this …

I’m sure you have already noted the major drawback: Once the powder pouches are removed from the box, what does one do with the remaining macaroni? When I was younger, my parents would threaten to send my hotdog-topped KD to the starving children in Africa if I didn’t finish it. I now realise that there was never and will never be any shipping of KD leftovers (to Africa or anywhere else!) due to the transportation problems I have outlined above. If we knew then what we know now …

 Whilst we are all feeling very pleased with ourselves for coming up with the idea of separating the cheese powder from the macaroni, we also have discovered that there’s an untapped market of ex-pats wondering where their next KD fix will come from. All around the world, millions of Canadians and their friends are yearning for a portable pouch of powdery goodness. And who is to cater to this demand? Surely not Dave Nichol and his wannabe brand of President’s Choice White Cheddar!

It must now be glaringly obvious that the good people at Kraft have a riddle to solve: if a Kraft Dinner pouch had wings … would it fly? On behalf of portable powder pouch supporters everywhere, we believe it would have no problems getting off the ground.

Yours beseechingly,

WhatNot2Date

CC: Dave Nichol, President’s Choice