Dear 12-Year-Old

Dear 12-year-old,

Wow. That was a year. You could call it a doozie. 

Here's a quick recap:

• The world stopped for something called Covid-19 and toilet paper ran out for a few days. Way too many people got sick and died. And it's way too hard (while it's still going on) to wrap our heads around the toll it's taken on the world.
• Everybody got a chance to see how unfair, unjust, and sometimes murderous we've all been to people for no other reason than the colour of their skin, their religious beliefs, their gender, where they were born, and so on.
• Many people in leadership positions completely lost their minds in the pursuit of power, fame and wealth. Other people in leadership positions tried very hard to cope with a world where overnight all the rules changed - some did great and others did their best. 
• For a few months, we had a chance to see what it was like to have almost no airplanes in the sky and next to no traffic on the roads. You could almost hear nature releasing the big breath it had been holding for centuries.
• Masks and hand sanitizers became all the rage.
• Out on the streets, in the parks, in the stores that were open, there were some persnickety people who would dole out the stink-eye for no reason, but for the most part, people were really nice to each other. Neighbours met each other. People bought dogs and walked them all the time. Families took walks together. Even in the winter. Especially in the winter.
• We watched loads of tv. The end of The Good Place. Every episode of Community and Parks and Rec. Half of Memories of Alhambra and How I Met Your Mother (for example).
• School moved from classrooms to computers, back to classrooms, back to computers, and back to classrooms again.
• Zoom went from having no part in our lives to being as common as the common cold (which, by the way, became very uncommon).
• We moved.
• When this started, you were taking swimming lessons, skiing, speed skating, and piano. Only piano survived (and you aced your first piano exam).
• You learned that "obvious" has a b in it. Which should have been ovious.

In the last 12 months - from the time you turned 11 to the time you turned 12 - everything changed. 

You sailed through a very difficult year and almost never lost your sh*t (that's a polite way to say 'shit', which, as far as I know, you've never said out loud despite hearing your family say it all. the. time.) It was so much fun to be cooped up with you, and the amount of time I had with you this last year almost makes me wish it would go on for another year. But it wouldn't be fair to you or to the world to let that happen.

You changed too, but in the way that a beautiful sunrise changes into a beautiful day. The glimpses into your amazing mind and personality that you've been giving us ever since you were born, they're not just glimpses anymore. We see them all the time now. 

And now you're 12.

Being 12 means starting to get ready to stop always being a kid. 

Being 12 means you don't have to accept the world the way it is anymore. You can start your work of changing it. Whatever you see around you that you don't like - that's fair game for you to make better. I've always been too passive and optimistic and complacent and satisfied with the world. You can be better than me on all those things. 

My advice...?

Be confident. The world needs smart, strong, hard-working, compassionate, funny girls like you to believe in yourselves and accept nothing the way it is. Learn from your sisters, and when people tell you they're trying and failing to do what's right, tell them "that's not good enough". 

Be brave. You have tons of common sense (just like your dad) so you can also afford to be bold and try things. Don't play truth or dare, but do dare to be truthful.

Be a kid. Sometimes, you're going to feel pressure to act older than you are, or to feel embarrassed to do some of the things you love doing. That is such nonsense. Don't bother with people who make you feel that way.

Enjoy every minute of what has to be a better year than the last one.

I love you so much.

Dad

 

Memories of a Pandemic Halloween

Halloween 2020 was that 'once in a blue moon' Halloween that every kid (and every kid-at-heart) dreams of...it was a Saturday with school a distant two days away, the fall weather was crisp - but not too crisp - and clear, a full moon lit up the night sky, and we could all look forward to an extra hour's sleep when it was all over. Sadly, there was also a scary pandemic going on and most people hunkered down in their homes instead of risking the plague-infested streets. 

Not so, here at David's house. 

We decorated the front of our house two weeks ago, knowing full well that only a handful of people would ever see it. We dutifully raked the leaf-strewn yard all week, before realizing that the leaves were themselves simply trying to get into the act by carpeting our display with fall's pallet. We bought candy and chips. Chose costumes. Carved pumpkins. 

We're living on a new street this year, and it already had its own David before we got here. The incumbent David had - also two weeks ago - carefully set up his life-sized Halloween decor, elaborate lighting, and creepy sounds. We spoke - David and David - and conspired that we would each have at least one trick-or-treater drop by on the big night. My one at his house, his three at mine. And we'd commend each other for our setup, have a drink, and toast the greatest night of the year, in a crazy year where the toasts have been too few and far between. 

(You can never have too many Davids on your street, by the way.) 

The wife had also been conspiring earlier in the week - with parents of the little ones that my little one calls friends - and they held an afternoon scavenger hunt in the nearby park. The reward for the kids? Why bags of candy, of course. The reward for the parents? Their kids' unbridled joy (and a nip of Bailey's in the old hot chocolate). 

But with the scavenger hunt over, friends gone home, and dusk falling, it was time to see what the night would bring. We hopped in the car to visit one nearby friend who had also elaborately decorated. Then home for a costume change. And now we waited, primed for some Halloween miracle. Would parents bring their kids around by car, stopping at houses where hard-core Halloweeners signalled their presence? Would small groups come around, foraging for treats? Would someone come? Anyone? Anyone? 

Alas, no. The doorbell never rang. The distant sounds of "TRICK-OR-TREAT" never materialized. Our lawn danced with lights and spooky figures, nodding to the most hallowed of traditions, but the gallery was empty. Our jumping spider sat, waiting, for the little foot that would trigger it to pounce...waiting...waiting. But no foot came. 

(If you'd like to see a short video of our Halloween display, it's here: https://youtu.be/1VslEF9qXF0).

This David would have none of it, grabbed the daughter, and marched off to the home of the other David. From their lawn, we glimpsed them through the door, getting ready to come out our way. We rang the door and they dropped treats in the little one's empty bag. We retreated to our house, and they marched over to the table we had set up with boxes of chips and chocolate, stood on the welcome mat where the jumping spider's footpad trigger waited, and somehow missed the spot. They happily grabbed their treats as I creepily approached from behind to trigger the spider (scaring only their dog). 

The other David told this David that they were going to head out to see who else was shelling out. We decided to join them. Both Davids left their other halves - not better, but other - to guard home base in case an onslaught of laughing children should burst forth from the street (spoiler: it never happened). And off we went. 

Turns out, every street had a few 'Davids', sitting around fires, or out on the porch with steaming mugs of what could only be Bailey's and hot chocolate, waiting for kids to come. The were relieved when they saw us and all too happy to generously fill our bags with thankful portions that would otherwise sit alone, uneaten, uncelebrated, for months to come. 

Our kids, who barely knew each other at the start of the night, ended the night delighted to have made new friends. They shared the bond of spending a most memorable night together. And of course, they shared the bond of being blessed with their very own Davids, who would not sit by and let the greatest night of the year pass unmarked. 

We were safe and careful. We were steadfast. We made the best of a horribly unfair situation. And we created Halloween memories we'll never forget.

Rules or no rules, Halloween rules.

Ethel and Sam's Brand New Home

In my imagination, they are Ethel and Sam. It is springtime and Ethel's biological clock is ticking so loud, neither one of them can think. The've been looking for the right nesting spot for days now and Ethel's starting to lose hope. But - just in a nick of time - Sam brings back some great news. He has found the home in which they will start their family.

It's a beautiful place, really. Worth the wait. There's cover from the rain. A smooth, clean surface. Warmth. Many strong, but surprisingly light sticks available all around. And best of all, room for more than one nest. Two or three if Sam is counting right (he was never great with math, but more tired than usual these days, waking up early each morning to get a worm or two).

Sam brings Ethel to the spot he's chosen, and she's surprised to see that it's even better than her mate described. She's getting heavy with egg, so Sam's going to have to do most of the work on his own. But he brought her here, he's been a great partner in all things, and he seems to know his way around a nest. She'll sit comfortably by, encourage him with her song, and keep watch out for squirrels and chipmunks and cats.

---

Sam's been labouring all evening and Ethel's impressed with the quality of his work and bursting with love. There'll be some serious pecking tonight in the temporary bush-shelter they've been occupying during the search, and an early start back to their new home in the morning. One more day of his stick-gathering and nest-building, and who knows? Maybe tomorrow night, Ethel will be able to settle in, snug, warm and dry, and prepare for the new arrivals.

Sam's been working so hard, but then Ethel will soon take over, attending to the joyous task of starting a family. She drifts off to sleep, truly serene for the first time in months.

---

Ethel wakes with a gentle nudge from Sam, a quick bit of worm he brought her, and then they're alight, back to finish the nest.

They arrive, but something's horribly wrong...

Where the partially completed nest had been, there's nothing. Everything lies scattered on the ground, including Ethel's hopes and dreams. It's a disaster, and Ethel is ready to give up. But dear Sam says no. He shoulders the blame for poor construction and vows to try again, to take even greater care, to work even harder and faster, and to make this place their home or to die trying. She's not a fan of the idea, but how can she resist his pride and determination?

They begin another long day of home-building.

The new nest is even better than the first. Sam has outdone himself as promised, and tomorrow will be the day they can finish and move in. One more night in the bushes. One more dawn. And then home at last.

---

They return again, with the sun's first rays, and see that the nest, again, lies in ruins.

Sam is heartbroken but gets right back to work. Ethel hangs her head and begins to consider Plan B. What else can she do, but hold on and stand by her man?

On the third morning, both Sam and Ethel are devastated. It's inexplicably happened again.

Sam is broken. Ethel is out of time. Sam looks to her for comfort, but she can't give him anything. They go back to the bushes in silence. Ethel's dad had warned her that Sam was "a hard-working but stupid fucker" and that one day "stupid would be the end of him". Looks like he was right.

---

Back at the scene of devastation, surveying the scene from behind a pane of glass, David and Angie watch the broken birds and their broken marriage. David begins to playfully mock the birds using funny bird voices, as he's done each morning: "Hey Sam," he says in the voice of a female robin (unknowingly choosing the male robin's actual name), "Great idea building our nest on a ceiling fan for a third time, you stupid fucker."

"Well, Ethyl," (again, quite randomly and serendipitiously landing on the female robin's real name, but spelling it wrong), "I don't see you coming up with any other bright ideas. So back the hell off and shut the fuck up."

Angie scornfully asks David if he's having fun. Not because she feels bad for the birds, but because now she has to sweep again. "Why did I marry such a stupid ass? I told him to leave the fucking fan on over night", she thinks to herself. And with that, she gets to work, cleaning up the tattered remains of those little birds' lives. "At least the stupid fucking male bird works hard..."

She should have listened to her father.

---

A parting profundity: "Aren't we all just little robins, building our lives on the blades of ceiling fans?"

Happy Birthday 11-Year Old

Dear 11-Year Old.

First off, happy birthday.

Ever since you turned 6, I've been writing birthday letters to you. There's lots of other stuff I've written for and about you over the years and I'm hoping this is the year when you start to read all that, but because it's your birthday I'm going to highlight the last bit of each of my previous birthday letters. Why? You'll see.

But first, let me show you the opening paragraph from my first blog post ever:

First Post Ever - September 4, 2012: "There's a lot going on in my life. I've got 3 daughters - two of whom are now off to University. The third one, being only 3, isn't close. That means that my wife and I are dealing with both "Empty Nest Syndrome" and first day of pre-Kindergarten at the same time. Whereas I thought having the little one around would blunt the trauma of losing the other two, it turns out that the opposite is true: The little one (let's call her "Micaela"), is a constant reminder of the other two as small children, and the other two make me very aware of how fleeting it all is.

Now, here are the last few words of each of your birthday letters:

A Letter to My Youngest Daughter: 6 Things to Remember When You're 6 (and older) - March 5, 2015: "I will miss my 5 year old when she becomes 6 in a few days, but I will love you at 6 too. And 7. And forever. See you then."

A Letter to My Youngest Daughter: On Your Last Day as a Six-Year-Old - March 7, 2016: "So that's why we're happy and sad as you turn 7. We'll keep the sad at bay so you don't feel it, but later on when you read this I hope it will make you feel even more love and loved than you do already. Happy birthday my sweetest little girl. Enjoy 7."

A Letter to My Youngest Daughter: Cherish 8 Year-old You - March 7, 2017: "I love you and I can't wait to see the kid you are a year from now and a decade from now. Don't ever, ever, ever, ever, ever hide the 8-year-old away where you (and I) can't find her."

Dear 9-year-old (a letter from a temporarily absent father) - March 8, 2018: "When it comes to parents and children and spending time together, the most important song ever is Cat's in the Cradle by Harry Chapin. I heard that song when I was young, and I swore that wouldn’t happen to me and my kids. Listen to it and you’ll know what I mean. And yet, here I am – missing a birthday because of work. Do not for one minute believe that it means I think there is anything more important than you. Nothing is more important to me and your mom than you and your sisters. And right now – at 9 – while I still have you full-time, and while you still need me (almost) full-time, you are the most important of all. “When you coming home Dad? I don’t know when, but we’ll be together then, Dad.”  That’s what the song says. But this is not Cat's in the Cradle because I do know when I’ll be home – and that’s tomorrow. I promise to give you twice as many hugs and kisses then. In the meantime, I hope you understand. Love you and happy birthday."

And now you are 10 - March 7, 2019: "I will always be there marvelling and looking for superlatives to express my inexpressible love for you. It's been a joy to share your first 10 years and I hope you continue to demand that I share the next 10 as well (not to mention the millennia after that). Happy birthday my Micaela."

Notice anything?

1. I'm a sap and I'm at my sappiest on my daughters' birthdays (yes, not just yours). I've treasured every moment of every day that I get to spend with you, and I really, really treasure the birthdays.
2. Not a lot has changed over all these years when it comes to how I feel about you and growing up. 
3. Time is indeed passing, and fast.

And now you're 11. I told you last night that I wasn't going to write you a public letter this year and you asked "Why not?" I told you that I thought you'd be embarrassed by it and you said you wouldn't. I'm very happy to hear that. I hope you're never embarrassed to have parents (and sisters) who are bursting with love for you.

So I'll keep this short. Here are some Daddy/Daughter highlights from this 11th year of your life:

• Meditating. As part of the 30-day challenges I started doing in August, September (I think) was meditation. As it turns out, I meditated every night at bed time, but never alone. This was my favourite 30-day challenge because it led to an every-night routine of spending 5-15 minutes lying with you relaxing from the day. As much as you might look forward to that, I assure you that I look forward to it more. 
• The Fishing Game at Dave and Busters. Oh man. That's our game and we're good at it. Nothing better than working together to catch a whale (or is it a shark?)
• The Games, Shows and Museums at Niagara Falls. So much fun to be there with you. The only thing more fun than being there alone with you is being there with a certain grown-up friend who is afraid of the mirror maze.
• Daddy-Daughter Playlists. First there was "53 to the Power of 9", then "54 to the Power of 10", and now we're into "55 to the Power of 11". I love listening to the music together and when you're not around. It always makes me think of you. And Macklemore, of course.
• Human Fall Flat, 3rd Rock from the Sun, and Impractical Jokers. Nothing better than laughing hysterically with you. No matter what my day's been like, those fits of laughter wash everything else away.

We do so much together and spend so much time together and I fear that with teenage years just around the corner, that's going to end. I sure hope not. I hope you're that rare kid whose feet stay planted firmly on the ground, who never gets embarrassed by your embarrassing family, and who continues to care about everyone around her equally (except her family who she cares about the most).

You are absolutely amazing in every way that someone can be amazing, and I wish you the very best year ever.

So much love...Dad

Love Is... (The 30th Anniversary Road Trip Edition)

As you may or may not know, my wife and I are celebrating our 30th anniversary in September and we decided to mark the occasion with a road trip this month (since our youngest was away at camp).

While the trip continues, I wanted to share some reflections (and pictures from the trip) related to what it means to love somebody for 30+ years (you'd probably have to include the 5 years we dated). So with a loving nod to Ziggy, ...

Love is...

Instantly forgiving her when she pulls out her daughter's passport instead of her own when you're 3 cars from the US Border Services guy. (Note, this picture is a re-enactment of the look I gave her before flinging her daughter's passport to the floor of the car).

Love is...
Putting a smile on your face while trudging a mile in sweltering heat, then another mile (uphill in slightly-less sweltering heat) before and after attending a concert you didn't really know you wanted to attend.









Love is...
Setting aside your morbid fear of mosquitoes and abhorrence of the smell of weed to attend an outdoor concert you didn't really know you wanted to attend.










Love is...
Gently and patiently explaining to your wife that James Taylor is not Cat Stevens just before attending his concert at Tanglewood.











Love is...
Resolving the mystery of Waldo's whereabouts and keeping the secret just between the two of you (okay, he's in Williamstown MA).









Love is...
Fourth of July fireworks from the parking lot because the mosquitoes are out in full force.

Love is...

Braving a haunted antique store, together (except upstairs, where there was definitely a presence, but not her presence because she refused to go up there with you).

Love is...

Eating lobster together with bibs on and agreeing not to take any pictures of each other with bibs on.

Love is...
A long walk on a long breakwater with no clear end in sight.










Love is...
Being able to laugh at startlingly insightful fridge magnets without ever telling each other about whom they are insightful.












Love is...
Sharing the cuisine from your very first date, again, 34.5 years later.












Love is...
A scenic drive up, and then down, a mountain with nowhere to stop while suppressing a pressing need for a bathroom. (Author's note 1: I just noticed that the word 'suppressing' has two pees in it - that seems important). (Author's note 2: the stop pictured here isn't from the aforementioned mountain drive where there was nowhere to stop.)







Love is...
Agreeing to disagree on whether a certain t-shirt would be appropriate to buy and wear around your 10-year-old and her friends.










Love is...
Both agreeing to try gizzards and sea urchins because that's what the chef sends you on his mystery table d'hote.










Love is...

Admitting that what your partner ordered is better than what you ordered (even if you never actually verbalize your admission).










Love is...
Holding hands during a haunted walk through Quebec City (even if the scariest thing about the walk is that a lot of it is uphill).

Love is...
The same from every vantage point.










Love is...

Spending every single moment together for more than a week without once wishing you could be alone or with someone else - even your dear, dear daughters who you also love very much.

And now you are 10

You're the big 1-0 this week and despite my best efforts, I will once again be away for the big day. We talked about it and in typical Micaela fashion, you're okay with it. (I did promise you an entire week of birthday starting when I get home, but still, I appreciate your understanding.)

If you've been reading back through my blog posts from the last 10 years, you'll notice that they've more or less stopped in recent months. That's because, as you know, I had to turn my creative energy to writing a book. It's also because you've become far more aware of your personal right to not have all your personal anecdotes and cute photos shared out on social media via my blog and facebook posts.

But I'm so happy I wrote all I wrote. Over the years we've gone for long walks in the woods, we've explored pre-school politics together, we've hung out with the Tooth Fairy, we've enjoyed many playgrounds and restaurants (including that time we re-enacted the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp), you've said many, many innocently wise things, and I've just generally observed you, agape, as you grew into the amazing person you are. I hope you feel lucky that so much of this has been documented for you.

I've gone back and read NONE of it because frankly I don't think I could (certainly while sitting in the Air Canada Lounge surrounded by a bunch of boring business people who would probably point at me and laugh once they saw I had tears streaming down my face). I hope you do though.

But it's time now that we leave this chapter of your life (and my life) behind. It's time I stop gushing about you publicly and sharing things without your permission. Unless, maybe, we start doing this together? (You gushing about me and sharing cute stories about me growing up?)

And since that's what this is...my last chance (before a wedding speech) to talk about you unedited by you...and given that it is your 10th and that's a big deal, I will make this a final (public) birthday letter. Then I'll find a new writing muse (not a puppy, hamster, guinea pig, ferret or llama - so don't bother asking) and share my thoughts about you with you privately from now on.

Here goes...

Micaela at 10: Smart. Hilarious. Deeply introspective (look it up). Generous to a fault. Messy as hell. Carefree - still dancing like no one is watching. Inundated with friends who all want to have her to themselves, and able to make each one of them feel like they do. Beautiful. Hard working. Independent, except when she doesn't want to be (a trait she shares with both of her sisters). Creative. Clumsy. Extremely resilient. Hates going to bed at any time in any circumstances. A burgeoning foodie and thus, a burgeoning expensive date. Just a lovely human being.

Your sisters, Mom and I certainly take some pride in the shaping-of-you that we've done over your first 10 years. It's been a five-person effort to make you who you are (since you probably had something to do with it as well). Somehow, though, it feels like we're reaching the point where it's going to be mostly you, supported by us, who takes it from here (in terms of continuing to grow into the person you'll become). I hope you're ready for that. It'll require lots of contributions from us, but on your terms. Asking for help. Pushing us away when we're getting in the way. We like to do that.

Advice?

Keep doing what you're doing. Always believe in yourself. You have tremendous instincts. Trust what they're telling you about people, about situations you find yourself in, and about life in general. You owe it to everyone else to share your point of view on things because you're a rare person and will have important insights that others won't.

Be a rock for people, because you can be. Accommodate others' needs because you don't mind doing that and helping others is one of the most important things you can do. Trust in people and make sure you are always someone they can trust.

But don't be a pushover. Look after yourself too. Be a rock for Micaela. Accommodate your needs. Help yourself. If there's a B+ on your personal growth report card (where everything else is an A+) it's in this area. And it's really important to keep an eye on. Don't be selfless in all things. Know what matters to you and fight for those things as hard as you would for someone else's things.

It's never going to be easy to be a girl (and woman, later). That's really too bad because it shouldn't make a difference in how you're treated, what you can achieve, and how hard it is to do so. If someone is making you feel like you're less because of this or anything else, that's not someone you should invest yourself in. You're not less. You never will be less. And you should never accept less.

An important secret to happiness is to surround yourself with people who know the secret to happiness, which is...wait for it... to always choose to be happy. Be happy with what you have. Find humour even in the bad stuff you go through. Make others happy. Make yourself happy. Be happy.

And be imaginative and silly and lazy (when it's time to be lazy) and hard-working when you're doing something that makes you happy or so that you can be happy, and irreverent (look it up), and deadly serious when it matters, and moody (but self-aware that you are) and completely contradictory in being described as all of these things at once.

Last thing: believe that you can be the absolute best a person can be: Set the bar that high. Then vault right over that bar with your feet flapping magnificently in the air, a smile on your face, a scream of joy in your throat, arms that are wide-open, and a mind that's actively taking it all in.

Let everyone else stare agape at your achievements as you show them how it's done.

I will always be there marvelling and looking for superlatives to express my inexpressible love for you. It's been a joy to share your first 10 years and I hope you continue to demand that I share the next 10 as well (not to mention the millennia after that).

Happy birthday my Micaela.

Chronicles of an Early Riser #23: The Tea Shirt

Ladies and gentlemen, the story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

This is the city: Toronto, Ontario.  I work here. I'm an idiot.

4:13 am

(Scene - Our hero lies awake in a blackened bedroom): It's obvious I'm not getting back to sleep, I should just shower and go downtown to get some work done before today's candidates come in for Training Day. I'll wear my favourite dress shirt and make today a great one!

4:36 am

(Scene - He now shuffles into a morning kitchen, lit only by the outdoor light, aglow to prevent raccoons from pooping on his shed): Look at that - the wife bought a new insulated mug on clearance at HomeSense. I think I'll be a good person today, make tea at home, put it in the mug, and take it on the bus. That'll save $1.75 at Tim Horton's and it's the environmentally conscious thing to do. I'm so smart...and good.

5:36 am

(Scene - Our hero now sits in an otherwise empty office building. The glow of his computer screen gently highlights the accents of his handsome face): Holy cow! The tea is still hot. This was so smart of me - my Tim's would have been cold by now.

6:18 am

(Scene - The sun is now rising and providing a soft backlight for our diligently working hero): Look at that, I'm being so productive that I've forgotten to drink my tea. I think I'll have another little sip of my still-warm tea. So good. I've got to remember to use this insulated mug every morning!

7:11 am

(Scene - The city is just awakening; cars are on the streets below and early-bird pedestrians hoof it to work on the sidewalks. Our hero gazes down at them from above): My how time flies. Candidates are going to be here soon, so I'd better start getting set up for that. I think I've got an interview with one of them promptly at 8. Oh! My tea! STILL WARM! I wonder how much is left. Why don't I just twist off the top and take a peek inside. Mmmm...there's still enough to hold me for now.

(He replaces his insulated mug on his desk, failing to screw the top back on...)

7:14 am

(Scene - Just closing up his computer to move into the training centre, our hero pauses for one more sip of tea): I'm going to have more of that delicious tea -- let me just pick it up off the desk here and take a little sippy-poo.

7:14:38 am

(Scene - He tilts his head to one side, trying to identify the warm sensation flowing down his chest and stomach): WHAT THE FLOCK! (actual words may have been replaced to protect the virgin ears  of younger audiences) HOW THE FLANGE DID I GET FORKING TEA ALL OVER MY FAVOURITE FROLLICKING SHIRT!?!

(It is of course his own fault, having left the lid unscrewed. And now, he is no longer un-screwed.)

7:15 am

(Scene - In a panic, he grabs his iPhone and calls the only person who can help him. She will be downtown later this morning, and she loves him. A groggy, obviously newly-awakened voice answers the phone): Wife! You've got to help me! I spilled tea all over my shirt and I've got people arriving in 45 minutes to meet with me! Can you grab me another shirt and bring it down with you please?

(She agrees and hangs up the phone. Her laughter is a soothing balm for his frayed nerves. He reflects on the time gap. She'll be downtown by 9 and people will be here by 8. He still needs a solution earlier than this one.)

7:18 am

(Scene - The office bathroom. Our hero stands unbuttoning his shirt in front of the counter holding two sinks. He carefully places the tea-soaked spots on the front of his shirt under faucet #1. Faucet #1 awakens as does automatic soap dispenser #1...): SHAMU! FILIBUSTER! The water is now all over my shirt and there are warm, creamy ejaculations of soap all over it now too. This isn't good. I'd better just wash the whole shirt now...like so...and then dry it under these hand dryers...

7:18:41 am

(Scene - Our hero, topless, holding a drenched shirt, turns towards the hand dryers, only to realize that this bathroom does not have hand dryers - just an automated paper towel dispenser): OH CREPES! NO FLOOPING DRYERS!!! WHAT NOW???

(He pulls some paper towels from the dispenser and futilely attempts to dab his shirt dry.)

Well, that's not going to work. Why don't I instead stand here, aggressively flapping my shirt in the wind until it dries. This is probably how they used to do it in the olden days...

(He flaps the shirt wildly for several minutes, before stopping, huffing and puffing from the physical exertion, and realizing that he is getting nowhere).

Wait a minute! Somebody else must be smart enough to keep a spare shirt at the office! I'll just search around until I find one. I'm saved! Saved, I tell you! My scheme is foolproof! But I shouldn't conduct my search topless...I guess I'll just put this drenched shirt back on and have a look-see.

7:29 am

(Scene - Our hero has just finished looking through the entire office and has turned up not so much as a handkerchief. He stands despondent, cold and damp): Wait a minute! Harriet (a work colleague, a Facebook friend, and a person who actually goes by another name) will be in soon...she's helping me with the training day! Let me see if she can help.

(He texts Harriet. After a few minutes, she answers...)

7:51 am

(Scene - Harriet arrives at the office carrying a brown paper bag holding two stylish shirts. They are gently wrapped in tissue paper. After searching Toronto's PATH system for an open haberdashery, she has rescued David, and just in a nick of time. She takes a quick peek at David's wet and wrinkly shirt - he also tried wringing it out - and gives him a little Harriet smile): Harriet, you are a true life saver. Now please answer the office doorbell (which has just rung, heralding the arrival of the 8 am guests) and let's have a tremendous training day!

6:41 pm

(Scene - David arrives home, casts his wet and wrinkly and still favourite shirt in the laundry room, and places the thermal mug in the sink with a scolding attitude. He will wash both later, but for now, he will rest. It has been a day, lessons have been learned, friendships have been deepened, and new shirts have been acquired.)

(Scene - It is later, long after David has gone to bed, and his wife has washed the insulated mug and his favourite shirt. Her love and adoration for him is stronger than ever, but today, she was unable to rescue him. She realizes in fact, that the entire tea incident was her fault. What was she thinking, buying an insulated mug and leaving it tantalizingly available in the kitchen drawer without first explaining its potential hazards? She promises herself that she will try, starting tomorrow, to be a better wife.)