Who Says You Can't Go Home

I went to America to buy me some clothes. I have to say that I love going home; crossing the border is so thrilling-it almost brings a tear to my eye. Don’t misunderstand me I like living in Canada, but my heart will always be in America. I bet you’re asking yourself why I don’t come home. Well it is because my daughter was born in Canada, and she loves Canada as much as I love America. (She is an American as well, but if you ask her and she will say she is Canadian, which she is too.) You should hear the American/Canadian spats we have in our home.

Me: What do you want for dinner?
Holly Pasta (Except she doesn’t say pasta, she says “p-AS-ta”.)
Me: (Because we speak American in this house I say:) No darling, pasta is pronounced “p-AH-sta.” There is no “as” in pasta.

We also argue about the letter zee. It is zee not zed. (After all we all know that the alphabet has a flow to it. W-X-Y-Zee... Why would they stop at the last letter and call it zed? Period. That just doesn't flow. Am I right?)

God bless her she doesn’t back down from a debate, but neither do I. There we are standing in the kitchen going through a list of words that the Canadians screwed up with their incorrect pronunciation. And I am left wondering if there is a word vortex at the border, EH? HA!

You should know that David is American too. We met here. It was one of the things I liked about him. (He speaks like a true American. Thank goodness. None of this zed stuff for him either.)

Back to my shopping trip...

First I went to THE Wal-Mart; and I found some great finds on the cheap. Then it was off to mall for more clothes. None of my current clothes fit, which is a good thing. But when I got to the fitting rooms none of the smaller size clothes fit. In fact most of the clothes that were in my current size were too small as well. (Crap!) I had to go up a size; I was so depressed, but I needed clothes and as I said the clothes were on the cheap, so I bought them.

I spent $250 on some Cute-But-One-Size-Up-From-My-Current-Size-so-I-Kind-of-Hate-Them clothes, and I went home to the “Land of Zed and P-“AS”-TA” to diet and get a fill. As I drove home, (I didn’t drive on account of my shakes and all.) I wondered if I could fill my band myself. Then I realized that was a totally crazy idea, because I had no way to get my hands on some saline. (Hey, I bet you could get saline in the grocery store in America!) I called my doctor the next day. He is going to see me in a few weeks, and I will have to have words with him. Maybe…

I forgot to mention that I had a slight issue that day. I was really bloated. David even said that I looked very pregnant. Let me tell you; just in case you didn’t figure this out for yourself- Jeans may not be the best thing to buy when you look six months pregnant. And looking back maybe that goes for tops too. It was a mess. The good news is the next day the “issue” had worked itself out, and I looked normal again. My tummy was also back to status quo. I put on my new jeans and said, “Hey these jeans aren’t too bad. I look hot!” The jeans still had the You-Look-Hot-Because-Your-In-The-Store-But-When-You-Get-Me-Home-And-You-Put-Me-On-You-Are-Going-To-Look-in-Your-Full-Length-Mirror-and-Think-to-Yourself-What-the-Hell-Was-I-Thinking look. Apparently my jeans forgot to morph into the home version, and like I said I looked Good! My jeans and I were hot together for an hour or so. But wait...I guess I DID need the smaller size, because my new jeans rapidly became known as Droopy-Drawers, instead of Sexy-Pants.

I figure the only the way I am going to get these jeans to work is to become pregnant, and that is impossible. Right now I am totally laughing at myself. Well it is more like a chuckle. All-in-all it was still a great trip. I am going to write a follow-up tomorrow about my incident at the border coming back to Canada. That one is totally funny too.