I remembered something funny that happened in Canada. You know how bad my memory is (or do you? I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned it. It is. Ask Ryan, she knows), so I’m glad I remembered it.
For the honeymoon, we flew to Vancouver. It was my first trip to Canada, and I was excited to stand on new foreign ground. Then we went to Seattle for the weekend. Then we went back.
So we’re-entering Canada in our rental car. There are two cars in front of us — one at the customs booth, and the other car in front of me is stopped at the red line. Lala’s idly flipping through my passport, looking at stamps.
She says, "You’ve BEEN to Canada before! In April of 2001!"
"I have?" I am astonished at this news.
At that moment, the guy in front of me rolls forward towards the booth, and I’m so busy thinking about this new development in my past, that I treat it as if it’s a stoplight, and start to follow him right on up to the booth OVER the red line without stopping. I have no idea why Lala is flapping her arms and screaming, "Stop! Stop! Stop!" but I do, and later I’m very glad I did. We love our Canadians, and we don’t want to piss them off.
(The forgotten trip was just a long layover, but it was there, and I’d been to Canada, and I’d forgotten. Erg.)
Also: I’m trying to be more Canadian. It’s my new religion. Yesterday, I stopped my car to let someone back out of a driveway, and later I waved and smiled a pedestrian across a non-ped crossing. If everyone were more Canadian, it would be a better world.
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