Megamind wasn’t the worst movie I've ever seen.
But I won't lie. . .I was somewhat disappointed.
I expected more from Will Ferrell.
I laughed in a couple of places.
Stephen laughed in a couple of places.
But $4.00 was about as much as I'd be willing to pay to see it.
Plus the cost of a Starbucks tall decaf and a grande mild.
I don’t think it was worth the price of two full movie tickets.
We sat in the back row.
But there was no necking.
I asked, but Stephen didn’t think it would be appropriate in the midst of a theatre full of children.
Watching matinee kid movies when the theatre is full of kids is the primary ingredient for a entertaining cinematic experience.
In particular, there was a little guy a couple of seats in front of us who laughed hysterically throughout the film, repeating all the lines he thought were funny .
I laughed more with him than at the film.
Thanks little guy.
I needed that!
At one point during our sojourn to Montreal, Stephen briefly toyed with the idea of staying an extra day.
Until he checked the Weather Network http://www.theweathernetwork.ca/ and discovered that Montreal was in for another snowstorm yesterday.
That clinched it.
After our horrendous experience on the 85 between Cabano and Riviere du Loup, Stephen just wasn't willing to take any chances. And on the road we were on Wednesday.
It was the only day we had clear weather from Montreal to Fredericton.
Not that we didn’t have some snow action while we were in Montreal.
Sunday night to Monday afternoon Montreal received 25 cms of snow.
Meaning Monday morning, before our expidition to Costco, we had to shovel out the Fiesta.
A task we were more than capable of meeting.
We've shovelled some snow in our lifetime.
And it isn't as if the Fiesta is gargantuan.
We also thought, somewhat misguidedly, that it would be nice to help Stephen’s father shovel out their Corolla.
Misguidedly being the key word.
Stephen’s father has a system.
And he does not, under any circumstances, like anyone doing anything to contravene his system.
Providing assistance is tantamount of contravention of his system.
As soon as breakfast was over, he was dressed and outside to begin “playing in the snow” as Stephen’s mother refers to his snow shovelling.
I, too, dressed to help expidite the process of snow removal to ensure safe travels to Costco.
To be greeted with Stephen’s father asking me what I was doing outside when we wouldn’t be leaving for a half an hour.
Apparently, the thought that I was outside to assist with snow removal never crossed his mind.
And I responded by grabbing a shovel to remove the mounds of snow encasing the garbage cans.
I would have done anything to see the look on his face.
It didn't take me too long to ascertain that if you insist on assisting Stephen's father, inserting yourself into his system, it is absolutely imperative that you shovel according to his specifications.
For example, he requested assistance with removing the snow underneath his car so he could use his super scoop to transfer the under-the-car-snow to the pile he was making in front of his car.
On the street.Because in Montreal people shovel out their vehicles but leave the snow in large piles on the street in front of, or in back of their vehicles.
Or on the sidewalk if they're feeling extra generous.
Which is an entirely different issue.
For some reason unbeknownst to me, perhaps brief snow-shovelling-inspired-delusion, a result of exertion, he asked me to shovel under his car.
I jumped at the opportunity to show my father-in-law that I could be both useful and helpful.
I was so niave.
Moving snow from underneath a car is something I am more than familiar with.
But not familar enough for Stephen's father.
He gave me my directive.
Verbally.
However, it would seem that I didn't possess the cognitive abilities to understand his verbal directive.Meaning he stopped what he was doing, took time from his scooping to ensure that I understood exactly what he wanted done.
To show me how to remove snow from underneath his car properly.
Meanwhile, Stephen was shovelling the sidewalk, staying as far away from his father and the his super scoop as possible.
Smart man.
I am just so thankful that we weren't in Sherbrooke.
75 cms of snow in a 24 hour period.
That is 2.5 feet of snow.
Imagine the cacophany of chaos removing that snow would have caused.
Montreal snow removal in general is nothing short of unfigureoutable.
Logic is not a part of the process of determining when and where snow will be removed.
Stephen and I took a walk after our trip to Esposito and Adonis.
We needed some alone time.
Fresh air.
Distance.
A break.
While we were walking, some sidewalks were crystal clear, while others were piled high with snow, leaving us to climb over snow banks.
I don't climb.
I don't like it.
I have short, stubby little legs and climbing of any kind makes my already balance-challenged self struggle, epically.
While my husband, with his six foot long legs walks over these snow mountains like Gulliver travelling through Lilliput.
Because in the process of moving snow away from their vehicles, Montrealers shovel their snow onto the sidewalks or into the streets.
Both are against Fredericton city by-laws.
And in our neighbourhood, with the nosey-nyoinka-up-the-street-who-doesn't-work-and- allows-his-wife-to-support-him, a fine for violating said by-laws would most definitely be forthcoming.
Should we ever lower ourselves to actually shovelling snow onto the streets.
When we came back from our walk, I noticed that all along the side of the street where Stephen’s parents park there were signs like this:
Thus leading Stephen to educate me in the art of illogical Montreal snow removal.
These signs mean that between the times on the sign, the city will be in your neighbourhood, on your side of the street, removing snow.
Meaning move your damn car unless you want the plow to re-bury your car, and spend another two hours shovelling.
Stephen tells his father the signs are up.
Thus creating a whole new panic.
And a primary opportunity for an argument between Stephen and his father.
Where to move the cars on the other side of the street?
When to move them?
And how to do it with the least amount of words-that-shouldn’t-be-said between Stephen and his father.
Me, I read my book and stayed completely out of it.
Our last evening in Montreal saw me and Stephen out on the great-egg-bread-hunt.
We bought several loaves while out with Stephen’s parents, however, we needed several more.
Our kids love egg bread, and for some reason you cannot buy it here, except at Victory and only if you get there on Friday.
Montreal grocery stores carry it the same way our grocery stores carry white bread.
We usually come back with between 20-30 loaves.
But this time we were limited by space.
We were only able to bring back 15.
While wandering through Maxi’s. . .
. . .we came to the in store pharmacy.
I asked Stephen if he would get me some acetaminophen with codeine.
The entire visit to Montreal, I suffered with a shattering headache on the right side of my head.
Psychosomatic?
Perhaps.
Nonetheless, I was desperate for something to relieve the pain and acetaminophen with codeine was my last resort.
In any other situation, I am completely capable of getting my own acetaminophen with codeine.
But je ne parle pas francais.
Beyond the above sentence, bonjour, au revoir, and a phrase that was a part of a popular song in the 70s, I don’t know any French.
Because Stephen is always the dutiful husband, he happily obliged.
I wandered around, looking here and there, thinking it was just a matter of asking for it, getting it, paying for it with the rest of our groceries, taking some, and heading home.
Just like I do here.
I forgot where I was.
Wandering around the clothing section, the wine and beer section. . . .
. . .just as an aside, seeing wine and beer in an aisle between the pop and chip aisles is just a glorious thing.
. . .civilized even. . .
. . .and I wandered and wandered and browsed and looked and wandered and looked some more and there was still no Stephen.
But there was a lot of laughter coming from the pharmacy.
Red flags shooting up all over the place.
Finally, eventually, Stephen appears.
Apparently, you can’t just ask and receive acetaminophen with codeine in Montreal.
You have to give them your name and they look in their computer for your name.
Naturally, his name wasn't in their computer.
Why would it be?
Stephen always spells his name when asked to give it.
Saves the embarassment of listening to other attempt to pronounce it.He always spells his last name as if he is in front of a group of children learning to print.
When he is finished, the pharmacist asks him, in French, if he is Jewish.
Ah, non, he replies.
He actually was Jewish at one point, but the story of Stephen’s religious journey is long and complicated and would require him beside me to ensure I get the details straight.
One day I will share, though.
But I digress.
Next he had to show them his Medicare card.
Causing, apparently, because this heresay as I wasn’t actually present, the pharmacist and her assistant oooohhhheeeeedddd and ahhhhhheeedddd over the New Brunswick Medicare card.
“Oh my God! You’re Medicare card is so nice!” In French.
She then notices Stephen’s birth date and comments that he doesn’t look old enough to be 50.
In April.
The 5th of April to be exact.
Muahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
(More details about said fete to follow)
And that is the LAST time I ever leave Stephen alone with a French female pharmacist.
Hitting on him.
Luckily, he wasn’t at all aware that was going on.
I know this because he never knew I was hitting on him, flirting with him.
Emily had to bribe him with shortbread cookies.
Even then it took him at least three more months to realize that I liked him.
Title Lyric: Down Under by Men at Work
No comments:
Post a Comment