My favorite “You know you’re a redneck when” joke has always been “you have more tires on your home than you do on the vehicles parked on your front lawn”.
That one paints the picture.
But this version had a Canadian bent. “You know you’re Canadian when…”
If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you may live in
wrong number, you may live in
If you measure distance in hours, you may live in
If you can drive 90 kms/hr through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without flinching, you may live in
If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both unlocked, you may live in
I do not know if Jeff Foxworthy has even read these jokes, let alone written them, but please let it be known that I did not write them.
But I was thinking about them just this evening.
You see, the evening was slipping away on Darlene and I when we realized we needed to do something for ourselves for dinner. The girls had already eaten given the unique circumstances of the night.
But we were starving.
Darlene went upstairs to fry up some bacon and cut up some tomato. A BLT sounded like a great idea. But then I stopped and said, “Do we have anymore of those frozen hamburger patties you made the other night?”
“Yes”, Dar replied. “But you’re not stinking up the house frying burgers in the kitchen!”
“No”, I retorted, being the natural retort-er that I am. “I will BBQ them, sound good?”
“It’s 4 below outside and its snow squalling”
“So?”
And outside I went in my favorite winter work jacket, and a beer. Out to the back patio. I brushed the mound of falling snow off the BBQ, opened up the hood, twisted on the propane tank valve, and flicked the starter switch.
“Booosch” when the flame as it lit the flood of propane on the first attempt.
As the BBQ heated up, I was cleaning the grill. And I started to think of the email Sarah sent me. “You know you’re Canadian when…” I thought.
Then it dawned on me.
“You know you’re Canadian when you have to brush the snow off the BBQ to make dinner.”
That’s a good one.
Then I heard the splash. And I heard the giggles. And then the whispers.
The neighbors behind us were in the hot tub. In a snow squall. Glasses of wine were clinking. And they were giggling at the idea that I had caught them.
And that’s when I realized what truly Canadian meant.
“You know you’re Canadian when you can have a couple of wines and fool around with the missus in the hot tub during a blizzard.”
And then I swear I heard Ann Murray sing “Snowbird”.
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