Results tagged “canada” from Overlooked
If only I could make my own at home!
So there I sat in the bus shelter, in the middle of a Canadian winter. Hungry, drunk, and cold as hell when they walked in.
They coughed, annoyed, and gave me dirty looks. So I butted out my cigar, put away my flask, and leaned back against the glass. I quietly watched them. One was intently listening to her friend, nodding her head in agreement. The other looked absolutely brownie. The kind that stains your fingers with rich, dark chocolate as you devour it: short, dark, thick, square, and packed full of calories. Her hair was flat and pressed down in the front, much like the shiny skin that brownies develop when they have perfectly baked. And the back of her hair was in a pony tail that looked crispy and chewy, like the little frazzles that cling to the pan and dry out, but are a treat to hunt and peck. She wobbled when she spake, belying her soft, delicious, fudgey innards. A chewy serving, bending as you bite into it.
Her words were hot and dark, steam coming off of a fresh pan as you take the first cut. And she wasn't one of those cheap boxed brownies that you can eat ten of at a sitting. She was a little squat serving, chock full of flavor and ingredients that you had to spend time chewing on. Savoring each delicate and subtle note, fully taking in each obvious chocolate gush. Something that you really needed a cool, tall glass of delicious fresh milk to wash down with. Unfortunately her friend was a lukewarm, acridly sweet, mocha latte.
(I once had an unsubstantiated theory that Tim Gunn of TV's "Project Runway" was Canadian. I don't know what it is about him, but there is something that makes my finely-honed Canadar TM (Go Redmen!) go ping. At the time, I could find no evidence to disprove my theory, which naturally only added to my conspiracy: no longer is Tim simply Canadian, but now he is ashamed of his motherland. For the record, Tim claims to be from Washington, D.C., though I still have my doubts.)
Tim Gunn settled into the 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets that topped his Louis XIV 4-poster canopy bed with the newest issues of Us Weekly, silently berating Natalie Portman's attached earlobes. Though admittedly Natalie did her best to make them work, there were surgeries for that kind of thing. Tim sighed to himself, absent-mindedly running a hand through his silver hair.
He put down the magazine and gazed off at nothing in particular for several moments. Suddenly, tears started to well up in his eyes, and their plopping onto the glossy gossip pages was the only sound in the room. Tim shook his head, trying in vain to stop their flow. Why were things so hard for him? He knew it was only a matter of time: imdb.com had workers lurking in every alley, and those hounds at E! Online were giving Tim ever-increasing migraines. He reached for his glass of San Pellegrino and tried to persuade himself of the soothing power of its effervescent bubbles: people paid top dollar for similar treatments at spas, and such treatments only affected the outside of your body.
But all was futile, Tim knew deep in his soul. Such was the double-edged sword of fame with which he had been knighted. One day, for certain...the truth would come out, and the knowledge of that fact ate away at him every waking moment of the day.
For Tim had a secret.
He was Canadian.
To be continued...
