On Canada Day, like the good sport and supporter of Canada's constitutional monarchy that I am, I decided to don a little flag tattoo (see above; I am so jacked). The tattoo, however, appeared to be temporary in name only. I showered for days, but short of painfully rubbing my skin (the way that's sure to get me welts for hours-- again, parents, thanks for the awesome genes!), nothing could remove the darn maple leaves. So there I was, on the 4th of July, with two little flags on my arm. And the entire world all decided to choose Independence Day to have keen eyes and observation. Every BBQ I went to and each friend I met had to start with "What's with the flag?" "Hey, Cananda, we don't accept your kind," "What're you trying to start; why do you hate your country?" And all along, I just wanted to win a trivia contest on a Wednesday then have some burgers and sparklers on Saturday. Like any good American, really. Moral of the story? No good ever comes from supporting Canadia.
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