I entered the CBCBooks online contest that asked us to write 250 words about a dating disaster. My entry is posted here, although, as my eagle-eyed sister pointed out, the format I sent to them seems to have not translated correctly, resulting in the loss of quotation marks. I think a word was dropped, too. Oh, well. I’ll post the correct version here on my blog once we hear the results of the contest on Monday.
My sister, who besides being a better editor also has a better memory than I do, asked, “Didn’t they put a necktie on that dog?” Yes, indeed they did. I’d forgotten that little detail of the owners trying to dress Carney up for the occasion. However, if I had added that bit to the story I would have been over the 250-word limit.
I did remember another date that could have been termed disastrous, although not for me, in this case.
Dad always had a good sense of humour, but not everyone got his jokes. During high school, I was being picked up to go out on a date. The boy (can’t for the life of me remember who he was) had come inside the door and, while I was putting on my coat, my dad came walking down the stairs with his hunting rifle – which I knew he had been cleaning – and said to the guy, “Now you make sure you have my daughter home on time.” Scared the poor guy shitless, and I don’t think he stopped shaking the entire evening, but he did have me home on time, possibly early. Not sure now if I ever went out with him again.
And I remember, too, when a bunch of us travelled back to Toronto from Queen’s for a big football game. Hugh, from Oklahoma, was with us. I introduced all my friends to my parents and my dad said, “Okalahoma, eh? What’s the main commodity produced by that state?”
I thought, Great! My dad is making conversation!
Hugh answered, “Wheat, sir.” (He probably called my dad sir, because Hugh has always been very polite.) But my dad said, “No, with three letters.” He’d been working on a crossword puzzle.
Going outside now to look at the almost-full-and-perigee moon. Beautiful!