The Canadian Experience

         “Alright, are you ready?” asked my Dad, like it was a big treat.  Would someone who was almost-a-teenager ever be ready to spend the last day of the summer holidays with her Father, a fathead brother, an American uncle, and two snotty cousins?

        The first day of September was Labour Day, the end of summer, the end of holidays, and the day of the hated trip to the Ex. It’s the last day of the Canadian National Exhibition.  Other people go with friends, have fun, have a good time.

 “Can’t I just stay home? I got a lotta stuff to do. Tomorrow is the first day of school you know.”  I tried but I knew it wouldn’t work.

“Now don‘t forget to bring a sweater,” said Dad.

“I’m going to go on the rides!” my brother told no one in particular.  I gave him a dirty look.

 “Cheryl is making faces,” that was Midge. I stared at her and crossed my eyes.

        “Cheryl is making faces,” echoed Cricket. 

                                                 

         My twin cousins Midge and Cricket are not insects but sneak-worms in designer separates.  The glitter on their American-flag shirts twinkled and their duplicate faces wore angelic smiles.  Having the twins around is like living in a horror movie.

         My cousins time their yearly visits so they could share what Uncle George calls The Canadian Experience, and they always say the same things.

         “Where are the moose?”

         “At the zoo”

         “Let’s go to the CNN Tower.”

         “That’s the CN Tower.”

         The size of the crowd made me groan.  We were on our way to Kids World to see Doo Doo The Clown. After that, Dad and Uncle George headed for a nice cool tent to drink Canadian beer.  Uncle George ordered himself two beers.

         “One for each hand. Darn bottles get smaller every year.  Am I right?”