They probably don't remember the T-shirt that said, "No, Regina, you fool!" I have fallen in with a crowd of wicked 30-something Saskatchewanians (Schmutzie swears this is a word) and, ready or not (hell with milk money!) here I come ...
Regina, we all know (don't we?) was (is) the capital of the province of Saskatchewan.
Why the temporal doubt? Because, of course, Canada hasn't really existed since my trans-Canadian trip to Kamloops, B.C., in 1978. Has it?
Don't let the Web site fool you: all they do in Kamloops is drive drunk, steal from the till drunk, rape drunk and, oh yes, get drunk.
I had graduated from university in Quebec from a province increasingly hostile to speakers of the Queen's language and my best friend happened to be covering court as a local news reporter in Kamloops. What is a Kamloops? I have no idea.
All I know is that I spent three weeks experiencing its tawdry side in court. Court as theater.
But back to my dear Saska ... what was that word, Schmutzie? (I am falling in with bad Kamloopsians tonight.)
What is it about 30-something Canadian women? So unsure they know nothing save their own experience, when in fact ... they know a thing or three.
Call me smitten, a word I reserve for my own Elizabeth Bennet. I just wanted to call some attention to them. Give them the old Saskatchewanian cheer (just a little north of the Bronx one).