Canada in Review in Photo

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"Dear Bobby"

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"Dear Bobby, I love you. I always look forward to when my husband leaves for work, and you sneak into bed with me. Sometimes, you will wake me up, but usually, you just lie there next to me waiting for my eyes to open." Bobby. You are a cat. But you are the cat of all cats. Unliked some others whose names I will not mention.... you like being a cat. You are my original Obi Kenobi... But you don't like your name and insist I call you "Bobby" or "Bob". You are my predator. You can catch anything- including a rabbit almost twice your size. I remember the time you brought a baby possum into our home. I had just awakened and sleepily headed to use the bathroom when, peering from inside the toilet, was a little possum begging to be released. You cheeky bastard, Bobby. That poor possum. I scolded you and you just turned the other whisker, as if to say "look lady... I am a cat, that's how I do...." The other cats beg for forgiveness when
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The Militant Guest:

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I love you military folk.  You are tidy creatures.  My sis' boyfriend is a Major in the U.S. Army.  Big time Army dude.  He's great.  Hospitable, friendly, and just the right touch of scary. I get a little uptight when I am in his presence.  If I am at his house I am making constant mental note to put things back EXACTLY where I found them.  If I don't, he quietly sweeps in and fixes what I did 'wrong'.  He really is nice- I don't want to make him out to be a baddie.  I just get nervous with his super tidy ways. I am relatively tidy.... you know.... relatively.  If I miss a day of vacuuming, I'll survive.  If I see a crumb lurking in the corner of my faux granite counter-tops, I might eye it and promise I'll get it next time I'm in the kitchen.  Or, or, or... it might sit there all day.  So when Major so-and-so is due for a visit, my stomach gets a little queasy.  I take a mental picture of my house and survey the scene.  What most people find
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The Good Dancer: A Dating Story

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I once dated a really good dancer. That wasn't his only strength. In truth, he was one of thee absolute best dudes I ever made out with.  He was super funny, smart and we clicked right away. But what struck me as odd was that, for the first time before and since, his good dancing skills didn't turn me off.  (For some reason, a man with too much swagger on the floor has always confused and frightened me a little.)  Oh, and I also don't like when they are so involved in their dancing that they forget you are on the floor with them.  Oh, and when they A. crowd you or B. use you as a prop.  Oh, and when they sing along to songs by female artists.  If you know all the lyrics to "I'm a Slave for You", that's both impressive and embarrassing. (I really did have strange deal-breakers with men...) So here was the first guy who I enjoyed dancing with that was actually a really good dancer.  He didn't crowd.  He didn't sweat profusely.  He didn't sin
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