megfowler.com

Vancouver, I love you.

Also?

I hate you.

I love you because you are warm and sunny and bright right now, and everything looks lit from within.

I hate you because VANCOUVERITES CANNOT DRIVE IN THE SUN.

I don’t know what it is, really. Are you being blinded? Are you stumbling like moles out of your offices and homes and squinting your way to and fro? Are your Gucci sunglasses so dark that you cannot make out forms beyond the small circle of your radio knob?

It takes twice as long to get home on the bus because crazy people in convertibles are having collisions with giant SUVs on bridges. Old ladies in mammoth luxury sedans are having run-ins with cabs on corners.

It would seem that all the people who fear driving in inclement weather suddenly take to their vehicles like babies onto chubby, uncertain legs, and the rest of us must suffer traffic jams and endless sirens as a result.

But. Still.

I love you, Vancouver, because you are social and fun and you commented endlessly on the flowers Coralynn gave me as I toted them homeward.

They were hard to miss, mind you, since they were approximately fourteen times the size of my own head and had blooms that I had never seen before, including one that looked like a beehive and one that looked like my Uncle Del.

I even liked that you sung to me about my flowers, guys at the gas station where I bought a bottle of water to get change for the bus because the freakin’ month changed over and SOME MORON NAMED MEG DID NOT BUY A NEW PASS.

(Also, Mr. Man at the bus stop who was jingling a clear POCKETFUL of change and looked at me like I was trying to rob you when I just wanted to see if you had change for a five? SHORT GIRLS IN PINK CARRYING GIANT FLOWERS ARE UNLIKELY TO MUG YOU. Dammit.)

Then again, Vancouver, I hate you, because some lady on the bus (WEARING ENOUGH PERFUME TO EMBALM A SUMO WRESTLER) informed me that someone might be allergic to my flowers, and wasn’t it a little irresponsible for me to bring them on the coach?

And then proceeded to quiz me on how much they cost EVEN THOUGH I DID NOT BUY THEM? And then told me how many children could eat for that amount… you know, THE AMOUNT I DID NOT TELL YOU BECAUSE I DIDN’T KNOW?

That’s okay, though.

I still love you because there are birdies flying everywhere, singing their sweet songs to the summertime. In fact, all the creatures are out and about, doing their seasonal thing.

THEN AGAIN.

My neighbour’s giant golden retriever is ALSO out, prancing in the air, waiting to nearly demolish me and my giant flowers, knocking my groceries out of my hands because NO, I CAN’T PLAY, YO, I NEED TO GO INSIDE AND CRY PLEASE GIVE ME BACK MY PESTO.

Sigh.

It’s tough to arrive home the colour of a cherry tomato, lugging flowers that have now wilted from the heat (except for the Uncle Del one, and that makes sense, because he loves Hawaii), slugging your groceries into the door because you trip on your own flip flop.

Tough to arrive home and smile, that is.

But then you hear yourself on the radio, and you’re ooooookay.

And you love Vancouver all over again.