It began around a campfire...crackling and aromatic, we kept our wits about us through the buzz of those last two bottles of beer...which followed the two rounds of Vodka Lemonades. With the circumstances as they were, I'm sure you'll understand when I attest that I have no idea how it started. Nick, I believe it was, had a slip of the tongue as he, Jeff, Kara, and I enjoyed comfortable, humorous conversation. Being in the company I was in—highly suited for me as they are all smart alecks—slips of the tongue are not treated as ignorable errors, but, rather, as something you spend the entirety of your life living down. I love these people!

Somehow, it became understood that they don't wear pants in Canada. Go ahead and re-read that sentence again if you like, but it won't make any more sense the second time through.

It comes up often—when someone (Nick) is wearing ripped jeans, for instance, we wonder aloud if maybe, just maybe, he's wanting to move to Canada. Or, or!—when someone (Nick) is complaining that their jeans are too hot, we wonder aloud if maybe, just maybe, he should move to Canada. Last Summer, recovering from my surgery, I existed (by and large) outfitted in one of Nick's tee shirts, and nothing more. They were cool, comfortable, and perfect for the location of my boo-boo. About 10 days into this style scheme, Nick came down for coffee before heading out to work and chastised, "YOU'RE NOT IN CANADA!"

Spoilsport.

The last two days I've been forced to wear pants to work. I am a dresses and skirts person...but due to a (much) less than pain free back after Wednesday's myelogram, I questioned my ability to don tights, a must for a non-menopausal, skirt-wearing Wisconsinite at the end of December. Pants! Can you imagine the travesty!? Nick asked timidly this morning how it felt to wear pants to work. I crinkled my face tellingly and complained in my most whiny tone, "I don'like iiiit!" Nick tried to soothe me, but I was inconsolable (my legs draped ankle to hip in opaque fabric as they were). I sniffed in unconvincing dramatic display and asked timidly around a fake hiccup, "Do you think we could move to Canada?"