Friday 20 December 2002

postcard from toronto

It's always a laugh riot bringing someone home for the first time, especially when home is on another continent and going there involves meeting a kajillion new people in the span of around three days. Not only am I inflicting strange people on my boyfriend, I am introducing him to my homeland. We were welcomed by wet, grotty English weather when we landed in Toronto, and were slapped around by bitterly cold winds in Montreal. The day after we flew in to Toronto, we attended a family function with 50 people who are vaguely related to me. Even I didn't know who most of them were. Two days later, we got on an incredibly overheated train to Montreal. I promised Paul that everyone in Montreal can indeed speak English, so there was no need to worry about not being able to speak French. So what happens? Every person we encountered in restaurants and shops couldn't speak a word of English. He got to meet all of my Montreal friends in one go at an intimate dinner for 18 (next time, we will definitely meet in smaller groups because I didn't really feel like I got to speak to anyone for more than a few minutes). He's been taken to malls, fast food restaurants, more malls, outlet malls, and up a mountain in the freezing cold. It's rained, sleeted, snowed, and misted on us since we arrived. So there I was, thinking that this must be such a cack way for Paul to spend his Christmas holidays.

But he's enjoyed the shopping and the relative/friends get togethers. He doesn't think my family is insane. He liked Swiss Chalet. Both my parents, on separate ocassions, have told me that they like Paul a lot. So really, it's been a good holiday. A great holiday, in fact - it's nice to be home and to have Paul with me.

Regarding my mutating accent, it's been brought to my attention by...well...everyone that I now apparently have somewhat of an English accent. This is only apparent to non-Brits, though (although Mark, an ex-pat friend living in Montreal, also says he can hear it). We were shopping in Roots in Montreal, and a salesgirl said to Paul that she loved his accent. A few minutes later, I said something to her and she said "Ooooh! I love your accent, too!" Ah, thanks. I swear to you all, I am not trying to acquire an English accent. There is nothing that annoys me more than people with fake British accents (Madonna, can you hear me?), and there's nothing more pretentious than a North American putting effort into saying "to-mah-to" and incorporating random phrases like "jolly good" into conversations for no good reason. So really, I'm not trying to sound English. It just sort of happens sometimes.

Spotted in Toronto: Terry's chocolate orange with raspberry. Ewwwwwwwwwww. Orange Coffee Crisp - I'm intrigued, but I bet it's disgusting.

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